Writing

Weeping on a Clear Day

Grief is not limited to the months
After funerals.

The psychic corpses
that litter my mind
outweigh the physical corpses
I have held in my hands.

These corpses can include —
Letting go of the sister I always wanted
First years of life stolen by depression
No soft hands on my back as a child insomniac
Parents who held flashlights for themselves and not their children
All of us stumbling in the dark…

These ideas and hopes and wishes,
Lost and never coming back,
Are to be grieved
And felt
And heard.

When the tears come
When the heart burns
On a sunny day
in the middle of traffic
Let the grief in.
It only feels unnatural
Because you have not yet learned
How to throw funerals for the living.

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