Grief Whispers

I’m telling you,
you are the desert.
Dry and discreet.
Colors fade
into sage and stone,
sable, &sand.
And this startles
no one. Birds
bed down on your back
and you are quiet
as the moon
weighing nothing
full
of dents &divots.
Birds of the air
know you’re there,
rising and falling,
symbiotically
distributing heat
somehow.
Sometimes,
even stubble
in cornfields
defy snow.
This is not a dream.
This is not a life.

day 16 NapoWriMo
for Real Toads

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3 thoughts on “Grief Whispers

  1. “Dry and discreet,” a wonderful pairing of words. Strong indicting here yet somehow, I think (as your reader), maybe there’s some endearment. Maybe because of the metaphors, and metaphors can make anyone feel better. Or at least impressed. And all the crafting it took to say this in (as) the poem’s voice. Maybe that should be appreciated even by the addressee.

    somehow.
    Sometimes,
    even stubble
    in cornfields
    defy snow.

    When my sister and her husband rented a farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania and I would visit, this is what I often saw outside the front window.

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