tears always find you

Solomon says sorrow is better

than laughter. There is refining

when I cry. Salt on my lips,

water in my ducts absent joy.

Does he know grief–way you can

stand over a body and break open,

the easy yolk coming up less

sunshiny, goodbye heavy?

You are gasping. Air, air, air.

Someone looks at you, would you

like some cucumber water?

You shake your head. Yes.

You sip so slow.

You are feet away now.

She isn’t getting up.

You are shaking inside.

You don’t ask God anything.

You watch a video of smiles–

when she is young, tiny, a baby.

A wife.

Mother.

Your grandma.

You sit, letting ache have it’s way

a month & a day later

because denial’s fog

deepens these philosopher’s words

on letting in, not yet letting go.

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