Grief as A Metaphor
Mo
Grief is a body of water.
It is violent and ever churning.
It is everywhere.
Grief is a body.
A brown one.
It is heavy, and full of water.
I’ve learned that grief is just love with no place to go.
I have no place to go.
Grief is a late lunch every single day, most days I don’t eat.
Grief is a strawberry stain on my white dress.
A spilled bowl of cereal.
A pair of headphones left on the 4th seat of the D train downtown.
Grief is a misplaced metro card, or worse, an empty one.
Grief is a bad job interview.
Grief is a body, that leaves.
Why won’t this one leave?
Why is it that this body stays in my bed, and hugs me tighter when my alarm breaks through
the silence of the room like a child on Christmas morning.
Grief is an unfitting thing.
Grief is an ugly thing.
Grief is the thing that forces me to close my closet before bed every night; it likes to play dress
up with my skeletons.
Likes to leave its shoes in the middle of the floor, for me to trip over when I’m trying to get
ready for work.
It is why my bedroom is always a mess.
It is the half empty pill bottle on the window sill, it is the rain.
Grief is a body of water.
and I cannot swim.
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Cauldron Anthology