Sunday

heavy

grief lives on your shoulders
like a load that you try to forget
or do not even realize
you are carrying
until the weariness hits you

grief lives in the pit of your stomach
like a ball of lead
It is voracious
but you are empty
It brings you hunger
and you eat
maybe to crowd it away
maybe to sate it

grief comes up
and catches in your throat
at the worst moments
in the middle of a word
when a thought
or a sound
or a name
recalls
all that you have lost





(Teo, may it be a while before you have to deal with grief.)

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