Endless grief (Trigger Warning)

Over my shoulder, the sun - the yolk of it-

threatening tenderness.

A person can spend days upon days

looking for the knife of their lifetime,

and eventually, they do.

They learn how to touch each possible recovery -

the counters, the shelves,

the endless, endless grief

where dirt used to be.

Of course, one afternoon:

the apple of it, sliced and eaten.

I am sitting into the grief now,

letting it take the shape of my body,

an open a window

where once there was no window at all.