sorrow

May Our Hearts Heal

by

Excerpt from Grandfather Poplar by Diana Henderson:

“Tears merged with the raindrops that streamed down her face. In her mind she had a vision of being wrapped in a grandfather’s arms, both of them weeping for something precious that was lost forever. She heard the weary cry of Redtail high above, his shrill and plaintive shriek signaling the need for nourishment and shelter from the sheets of rain, or perhaps he sensed their silent vigil and honored their grief with his own voice.”
©️ copyright 2005 Lillian D. Henderson

To My Dear Nephew Steven

by

This is a particularly sad poem. As I mourn the passing of my nephew, these days find me steeped in sorrow that needs expression. Sometimes writing or creating art allows sadness to dissipate and helps us transmute what otherwise might overwhelm the psyche.

Let us remember love’s refrain
Echoing time and time again
Walk with me in the pouring rain
Until we wash away all the pain
Let go the dreams that have been slain
Cleansing the tears and bloody stains
Suture the sorrow’s open veins
Releasing aches that yet remain
Both the sublime and the profane
Walk in the sunlight free of chains

—Diana Henderson
© 2026 Lillian D. Henderson

The Song Remains the Same

by

A song can always take you back to days long past, evoking old joy or sorrow. Today, for a short span, I was drawn back to 50 years ago and the last time I saw my first love. I can still envision him standing there on the corner of Bessemer Avenue and Church Street, his long honey blond hair hanging loose below his shoulders. I have no photos of him or of us. Those are lost to time. Not even his sister has one. The evidence of his life is long gone. But every now and then, a faded memory pops into my mind, a postcard from times that will never come again, and I see his face, those Cherokee cheekbones and Irish eyes. And all of it floods back to me, every particle of our overwhelming love, our mad youth, two wanderers clinging to each other for life. He was only 21 when he was murdered, shot in the heart. It was all so long ago. But at least his sister and I remember. His brothers are gone from this world too. But I believe the traces remain. The walls and floor of that little white house where we once lived all those decades ago surely hold the ghosts of him and me echoing through time.