Grief dances
Grief dances her way
through the streets of the slum
while the women whisper—
No shame.
Grief lingers obtrusively
in the corner of your eye
at every family gathering—
Sprinkles distaste on all your old favorites.
Grief hounds you at home,
begs you to leave,
wishes you would stay—
Never satisfied, like a mother, with your choice.
Grief returns
like the cowboy in a western
come to duel for the soul
of a dusty decrepit town.
She returns
like the shivering autumn leaves
to the dirt,
like your unrelated aunt
showing up to visit unannounced.
Grief crashes
to the floor like a pot
from the kitchen cabinet
in the middle of the night.
She is a sudden summer thunderstorm.
Grief returns
like the hair tie you lost,
the water bottle you forgot about
and don’t want to wash,
like the cilantro you left in the fridge.
She returns
like the golden retriever
at the end of Homeward Bound—
Stubborn, relentless,
kissing your wet,
messy face.
— olivia gwyn
