Tossed out to sea, shaken and spun without mercy by raging wind and wave, I no longer know where I am.

When I slow my breath and sit, I feel her like a cloak, a soft fog protecting and blurring the view, keeping me safe from the harshness of the world.

A poem by Luna Jaffe

Deep in the woods in the Olympic Peninsula there is a rotary phone mounted on a tree with a simple sign, "Telephone of the Wind"…

All too often I close the door on outstretched arms when the pain is too great to bear.

On rewriting your estate plan after the death of a loved one

Until you lose a child, a breast, a home you do not know in your bones in the delicacy of words how to fully be with someone walking this path.

I have shed my skin, wiggled out of that dead casing leaving behind a hollow form that once held me snug in the comfort of who I was.

Why do we think every birthday or anniversary or holiday must be happy or merry or full of joy?

A Prayer for Myself on this Holy Day of Birth

A poem by Luna Jaffe

The things we say

On celebrating a birthday in the wake of loss

I've been noticing my reactions to your messages -- at times they resonant so deeply that I am stopped in my tracks, aware that this is what it feels like to be seen and witnessed... how life-giving this is.

Am I disconnected from my sorrow or is it moving through me so beautifully that this is simply how good grief feels?

A poem by Luna Jaffe

A poem by Luna Jaffe

A poem by Luna Jaffe

A poem by Luna Jaffe

When a child dies, without preparation or training, you are thrown out of elementary school where you sat in a circle, listened to stories and ate graham crackers.