The Teacher

A poem about alchemizing grief

Photo by Kyle Smith on Unsplash

Sitting on the couch in the place where I spilled Crown and cranberry, to the bed I shared with weeks-old clean laundry, to Wegmans, rolling the wobbly cart to the sushi counter— I carried my grief.

Wasn't given any other choice.

It was stirred into me like salt mixed in soup. No separating it once it's there. She was in my blood. High blood pressure is what they call it but she told me her name is grief. Breathing labored, so tired I could barely keep my head up— that kind of grief. So I carried what had become one with my body until—

I cried at the TikTok with the cute kids, the dancing couples— sat emotionless when I used to laugh til I snorted. Got resentful, angry, pissed off at the little things and made em into catastrophic things.

Until I could write about everything, like in my book Tell Me Where It Hurts, where I told the world about my hurts, my worries, my hopes and dreams, about my love, my life.

And I could sing my grief through Adele, Alice Smith, Eryn Allen Kane—the accuracy of a 2022 Spotify Wrapped playlist bearing witness like that.

And I smoked, and danced, and moved again and again. I carried my grief until she didn’t want to be carried anymore.

Until she felt like I’d done all I could to tell her story, to feel her as much as I could feel her.

I didn’t drop her.

I didn’t try to forget her.

I carried her everywhere until she had enough.

Until I could tell somebody how to get through.

Until I learned the lessons.

And then…

Enough landed in my body like a barricade.

Grief looked at Enough and said, “Go to the party. Go somewhere and meet someone new. Go— have a different kind of start to your day—Grief needed space. And only she had the power to take space. So—

I’m a grief teacher now.

Now my body feels joy.All deep in my soul. This joy feels like I’m walking on love clouds— and I don’t want to be on solid ground too long.

I’m walking on sunshine, yeahhhh.

This joy is safe.Mixed up just like the salt, but I ain’t salty—I’m the right amount of sweet. Joy— she’s laid back, sometimes she’s so high on sunshine, she makes me want to move—hips up and down, side to side, gyrating hard and fast to Beyoncé’s Cuff It—and sometimes I do,

I do.

The world didn’t give this joy, but it sure tries to take her away.But she’s safe with me.And I am blocking every joy thief that comes close. Being loved is my hobby, my whole love language,my life— and I am smiling as I roll my wobbly cart.

No more tears.

Written by Tasha Hunter 2/27/2026 / 4A.M.

This poem was inspired by Mary Oliver's poem, Heavy.

And here are a few songs that got through Grief's Alchemy…