The Generosity of Grief

I finally relax my grip

Open my hand

And let you go

The moment stretches out

Our campfire dies

Its light dancing on your face replaced by shadows

Your features played upon by moonlight

That fades fast, too

Your laughter 

That had been everywhere

Is suddenly in another room

Down a corridor, until it’s gone

My throat in my lap

My rib cage pried open

By blue

A burning chunk of ice

My ears bent to the sea (is it a lake?)

Noting that the sound of water lapping against shore

Fades completely

My body loses contact with the ground

The forest has fallen completely away

Silence fills every sense

Having shown the light, sound, and the rest of their friends

Out

I hold my breath; I don’t know how long I can

I know I am drowning

Until my instinct forces me to draw breath

But I don’t choke

Instead I feel a certain relief in knowing

We were only ever pretending to ourselves

That we could share a weekend away to right the world

Long breath out

I keep breathing and I sink

In and down

Grief, a sure-handed messenger, tends to me, singing

“Yes, it would have been magical but it will never be.”

Joy whispers from somewhere,

“Thank you for coming. It is generous of you to notice.”