Amy Lowell Prize Finalist, selected by Jason O’Toole
Robbie Gamble (he/him) received an MFA in Poetry from Lesley University. His poems and essays have appeared in Consequence, Post Road, Red Wheelbarrow, Salamander, The Sun, and Tahoma Literary Review. His chapbook A Can of Pinto Beans, published by Lily Poetry Review Press, was a finalist for the 2022 Jean Pedrick Award. Robbie worked for many years as a nurse practitioner caring for people caught in homelessness. He divides his time between Boston and an apple orchard in Vermont.
The Mudroom of My Grieving
In the mudroom of my grieving
the floor tiles are both gritty and slick.
I am wavering, one boot on and one off
my damp mackinaw pulled over one arm
unsure if I am stumbling in or out
to register an unsettled wintry mix.
In the mudroom of my grieving
the air is dense with wool and woe
and far-off wafts of baking bread.
I can still glimpse them: my father’s
pale legs drawn up like a frog
pinned to a dissecting tray,
my mother’s slack jaw listing
to starboard. I am waiting for a breath
not theirs anymore, of course, perhaps
my own, or a fresh dusting of snow,
or an uninterrupted night of sleep.
I am grateful that the mudroom
of my grieving is a generous space,
with ample room for three or four
to gather in to clump about and layer
up or down, depending on the mood,
with rows of pegs to hang our feelings on
until they’re needed once again. No need
for flowery condolences or broad gestures—
it’s a simple passageway for the business
of transition, where we utter our welcomes
and later listen long after the latch drops.