I Arrive Clothed in Grief

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 The Whirligig #394

Prompt words in red.

image: public domain
 

I arrive.

I arrive wearing scraps.

Pieces of my patchwork life

crudely stitched from

scraps of grief.

Bare, but for these scraps,

these griefs.

 

I arrive.

I arrive wearing patchwork,

my broken heart

stitched upon my sleeve.

Ragged cloth.

Tattered soul.

Grief clothes me.

 

I arrive.

I arrive stick thin,

grief-stricken, invisible,

longing to join

these strange creatures I see

smiling, laughing,

blind to my grief.

 

“See!

I arrive!

Drink in my sorrow,

taste my patchwork heart.

Hear! 

My name is Grief,

and shall be forever more.”

 

I am not courageous.

They lie in telling me so.

They know not grief as I do.

Grief burns deep.

Deep and cold.

So very, very cold.

And, so very, very deep.


©2022 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved

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