Grief
The kind of grief I feel
is ancient; there is no road,
no tributary, no stream or path
for it to take. There is no
appropriate expression.
I could cut my hair,
but shaved heads don't mean much
anymore -- mourning happens
somewhere else in the body.
I could rend my clothes,
but clothes cost money,
and I'd still have to get dressed
int he morning.
I could weep and wail,
but I did all the weeping
in the weeks before we broke up,
crouched against the wall,
defending myself against you and
Wailing will get me locked up,
one way or another, for
disturbing the peace or maybe
for a "behavioral emergency".
So how do I grieve?
I sigh a lot.
I eat donuts.
I write bad poetry.
And I miss you
just a little bit more
every day.
is ancient; there is no road,
no tributary, no stream or path
for it to take. There is no
appropriate expression.
I could cut my hair,
but shaved heads don't mean much
anymore -- mourning happens
somewhere else in the body.
I could rend my clothes,
but clothes cost money,
and I'd still have to get dressed
int he morning.
I could weep and wail,
but I did all the weeping
in the weeks before we broke up,
crouched against the wall,
defending myself against you and
Wailing will get me locked up,
one way or another, for
disturbing the peace or maybe
for a "behavioral emergency".
So how do I grieve?
I sigh a lot.
I eat donuts.
I write bad poetry.
And I miss you
just a little bit more
every day.
posted by MysticSavage at
3:26 PM
|
2 comments
