It happens slow

Grief settles into the niches and cracks 

filling the holes up

so the surface is flawless

as smooth glass.

Grief is fluid in those hours

while bodies gather close and keep it warm.

It isn’t until the first freeze

(and the freeze comes later)

that grief expands

just as ice expands, with implacable slowness

rupturing the structure of

the hollowed place;

carving long shadows

in a drawn face.


grief is a walk down 

a corridor

where light passes by

but doesn’t stop,

and you carry your heart

on that long walk,

poised to perish in the palm

of a cold hand;

and those you love claim

 to understand;

sure, they understand…

…but then again, they don’t.

Still you’re grateful for a smile, for small graces,

as you make your weary way in colder places.


4 thoughts on “It happens slow

  1. I commented on the wrong post. So again:

    You are wise beyond your years. You take a mental process and transform it to a physical process more easily understood.

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