I am in grief and grief is in me
Grief is the name of the avenue lined with trees
And grief is the name of the lake where I learned to swim
And grief is the train I board every morning
And grief is the name of my mother's favorite flower
Grief is in the land and the land is in me
And when I swallow enough dirt it will become almost as if I own it
And when I taste the salt in my cheeks
and when the pebbles join my rows of teeth
I will become accustomed to the taste of stillness
And I will feel the shape of mourning against my throat
And maybe I will synthesize all its notes into something more than memory
And maybe I won't flinch at the stench of it anymore
And maybe my ears will stop ringing with it
I am in grief, but maybe someday it will be out of me
YOU ARE READING
a pebble in a pretty girl's pocket
PoesíaThinking well means looking beyond what is simply there, in a direction aimed at change.
