Wednesday, September 09, 2009
If my grief were a tangible thing,
it would be a throbbing red ball
pulled from the deepest pit of my stomach.
Heavy and aching, but slowly, constantly,
in that way you can grow
I could hold it like a pet,
stroking it in attempt to soothe it.
I like to deal with pain pre-emptively.
That's what I tell myself.
As if that were possible.
As if you can imagine, in advance,
the pain you will feel when your foundation
As if you could imagine the hurt
of watching your sun fly away,
not being certain when or where
it will shine again.
Pieces of paper.
pieces of paper.
Paper with government seals of admission
I despise them, even as I wait for them,
stake out the black box at the end
of my driveway and wait.
I'm tired of leaving.
Tired of brave faces at airports
I'm tired of worry.
Tired of no knowing when she'll be back
and if I can finally keep her.