Grief

The rain drums on branches,

releasing the smell of green.

The waves beckon me to the beach,

to stroll looking for the perfect rock

the perfect piece of wood or glass

as the dog devours the smells of fore passers.

BUT my heart has been slashed,

leaking the fluid of life and

sucking the breath from my lungs

in its attempt to pump on.

Grandchildren call with care

laying their day before me in words.

Friends call to play

let’s go to that place

let’s do this thing.

BUT my heart has been slashed,

leaking the fluid of life and

sucking the breath from my lungs

in its attempt to pump on.

The garden droops in wet rot

needing clipping

and raking.

Empty earth needs planting

And sculpting.

Grass grows in clumps

illustrating its lack of care.

BUT my heart has been slashed,

leaking the fluid of life and

sucking the breath from my lungs

in its attempt to pump on.

I fear I am forever wounded

as if from war.

Will my smile ever be more than

the slight turn of lips

pretending I can live?

My mind flutters to the days

when you wrapped me in your arms

comfort oozing into my soul.

Did I feed the dog today?

Have I brushed my teeth?

I don’t remember. 

BUT my heart has been slashed,

leaking the fluid of life and

sucking the breath from my lungs

in its attempt to pump on.

 Christine Crowell  11/17