Grief, an exploration in words

grief is trying to breathe

grief is too soon

grief is no and no and no

grief is feeling a heartbeat stop, gone from beneath your fingers

and breaking the earth in two.

grief is cumulative

grief is one times one is ten

grief is layers of raw-edge concrete,

tightly packed and stacked 

sedimentary by day

metamorphic by night.

grief is why why and why

grief is fuck you

grief is midnight pillow cries,

kidnapped stars and moon

grief is unknown sidewalk stains

everyone walks around.

grief is unfixable dents in steel

no one understands 

until they absolutely do.

grief is a boulder so heavy

you’d saw off your own heart 

just to escape it.

Copyright (c) 2020, Kathy Lynn Harris.


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