Thursday, April 7, 2016

sometimes there are no words

sometimes the air is thinly keening

we make an offering
of silence

we do not know how to embrace
our lack

*

i have three children, she said:
hope and loss.

well, that’s that, then.

what can be said now
that doesn’t ring hollow?

*

i would take you into my arms
and grasp at the emptiness

i would whisper that all will be well
and all would be well

the choices we make when we speak
of absence.

*

how we long for someone
to enter our pain

how we are still learning what it means
to mourn

how we mistake complaints
as a form of sharing

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