My winter visitor

October 7, 2014

My grief, when she’s lying next to me,
shows me that these days are beautiful.
Now days when eating feels like an unfortunate necessity
irradiate the rain through window shades,
and let me see not its implications,
not the muddy drive home nor the planned day ruined,
but the life it will bring and the diamonds we will see
crashing and exploding as they make impact.

Perhaps, rather, it is my grief that is beautiful.
She is not my mourning shadow or my mistress misery,
but a chemical reaction in the deepest part of my brain
grabbing me through my mind’s eye by the t-shirt and
holding me up against a window, screaming at me.
Screaming that I am here, and these things matter.

She slams my head to it,
separates the shades,
and shows me how the wind tickles tree branches
into a frenzied state of joy and pain—
the leaves shaking for it to stop, but laughing while they scream.
Shaking, shaking me always she reminds me
that even nature laughs sometimes.

She shows me that if one branch can shake off its burdens,
and bring snow to its feet below,
then why can’t I?

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