What the Living Do (Marie Howe)

When I don’t have the right words to share with someone who is experiencing the wilds of grief, I will often share this poem. I first read it when I was a 14 year old grappling with my first true loss, and - unlike so many works of art we love as tweens - it has never faded or started to look cheesy or saccharine. It’s a perfect thing, growing lovelier each year.