when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
Don’t give me solitude
Because I’ll have to try
To dig among my thoughts
To find a reason why.
Please busy me with work.
If there’s time let me drink.
Give me philosophy
So I don’t have to think.
Create more stuff to buy;
I’ll shop until I drop.
All the girls standing in the line for the bathroom
Under a cherry tree
I found a robin’s egg,
broken, but not shattered.
I had been thinking of you,
and was kneeling in the grass
among fallen blossoms
when I saw it: a blue scrap,
a delicate toy, as light
It didn’t seem real,
but nature will do such things
from time to time.