Grief

It's in the realizing that
After the bad day
Of missing the bus
The incessantly screaming child
A headache that hasn't fully gone away
A sink full of dishes not mine
A late dinner
And the heater turned up too high...
I can't call you.

It's in the knowing that
When I've just seen something
You would have laughed at
I can't pass it along to you
So it can be our inside joke.

It's when I suddenly remember
That I made every physical piece
Of you
Disappear
So that I could forget.

It's when I want to get my feet wet
And wear my sandals in the rain.

It's when I'm sitting still
And realizing that you're still here
Somehow.

It's when I remember that you're not.
It's when I remember you never will be.

That's when the tears come.
When the lump forms
Like mud in my throat.
Breath becomes labored,
Trying to outrun what has already
Caught up with me.

It's no tempest of tears,
But a soft drizzle
Or a careless drop here
And there,
Almost like forgotten pennies
Coming out of your pants' pockets
In the drier.

It's a slow, soft ache
That follows reality's knife cut
Of realization,
And it rests like a stone on my chest,
Rising and falling with each breath,
Sinking slowly into the gulf
Of short term memory.

Tides come in and go out,
Grief rushes and crashes
In waves that slowly let out. . .
Only to come in once more.