Some of us conceal it under their Sunday’s best

Snuggly tucked against their aching chest 

Making sure no one would ever guess. . . 

 

Others deliberately keep it at arm’s length

Cocooning themselves in an impenetrable Kevlar vest

Desperate to deflect an earth-shattering reality.

Their perfunctory smile subtly warns:

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” 

It has become their escape hatch.

 

The third category comprises

The “silent screamers”

Those who publicly broadcast

The despondency of their forlorn heart

By going to town

Sporting all shades of black.

 

Grief seemingly eludes 

The desensitized “non-weepers”

Whose tear wells have thoroughly dried up

Due to excessive exposure 

To scorching temperamental siroccos.

 

They have shed all lingering hope in better days.

They once faithfully proclaimed a firm belief

In the existence of an oasis overflowing with milk and honey.

They now fiercely denounce it as a cruel masquerade,

A senseless utopia, a deceitful mirage.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me!

 

At last, there is intermittent grief

Swelling within your broken heart 

Such a tidal wave

That builds up momentum

Until it burst in a flash flood of salty tears.

Its onset can be a nostalgic remembrance

Of once upon a time

Or the regretful longing 

Of what could have been ‘if only. . .’

 

It threatens to carry the mourner away
 In the violence of its emotional tsunami.
 Yet, once it subsides, 
 It brings momentary relief in its wake
 Letting him catch his breath.
 Each surge mimics a labor pang.
 When will the healed self be birthed?

 

Grief smoothly takes over unguarded hearts

Swiftly becoming a familiar dispiriting presence.

It makes itself quite at home in a distressed frame of mind

Shrugging off its tentative eviction notices

While ensuring it remains hooked on endorphins.

 

Grief is a ghost from the past

Who throws a shadow on the now

By haunting its hostages in their waking hours

Denying them solace.

 

Time heals, they say.

Will it live up to its fiduciary duties?

Or does the task default to us?

 

After capitulating to Sadness for a while,

It would be wise to part ways

And allow Joy, its winged nemesis,

To lightly rise over the rubbles of a past in shambles

Leaving earthbound Grief behind

So that it may rest in eternal peace.

 

Anyas Spencer, 

Medford, OR, 9/21/24