A friend said to think of grief
as a little person you carry within you.
My grief is going through the terrible twos,
lashing out because it doesn’t have the words.
I try to comfort my grief, to tell it
I don’t have the words either, to explain
that if it were up to me I would still try
to make things work, to pick up the pieces,
to tend to that which was remarkable.
My grief pounds its little fists on the floor,
yells a single rising note of anger.
I squat down until I’m at its level.
I look my grief in its teary eyes,
noticing the tears in my own.
I realize there are no useful words.
Instead I take my grief in my arms,
pull it close to me, hum a little tune
until the storm passes.
/ / /
24 July 2022