CCM by Jessi Harrison

The grief is a glass cage.Animal pacing inside lookingfor a crack. A drop of rain to fa        l        l          through.It lures you in with promise of taming. Lassos your downfalllike a bucked Bull. Gores you forward like progress is only made from pain.The grief is a punched stomach. Missing sunlight on skin. The phone ringing. The phone ringing. The phone ringing. The phone ringing. The phone ringing. The phonering                                                                     ing.The loss of a voice to respond to “sorry”. The dictionary page with DEATH gluedto the bedside table.The grief is remembering. The grief is forget.The grief is a lighthouse. A beacon that drowns ships like jagged ghosts. I praythrough the water. The ocean promising my lungs relief. I pray through the water.I pray on the beach. I pray through the water. I pray on the beach.The grief is a broken prayer. The grief is a lying beam. The grief is the wood of a cross.A burial plot. Fresh food. Bouquets of flowers.So many sorrys.            So many sorrys.                   So manysorrys                             sorrys                                  sorrys.The grief is hushed psalms. A stumbled hallelujah. A pallbearers                                    trip.The grief is church bells. The grief is left over soil sculpted into sandcastle.The grief is an empty pit. Hollow as it sounds. Empty as a sleeping partner.The grief is folded hands.            The grief is folded hands.                The grief is folded hands.Fold                      your                           hands.The grief is AMEN.                                  I pray through the water.                         I pray on the beach.The grief is a desert. The desert is lined with hallucinations. The grief is an    o  a  s  i  s.The grief is a mirage. The grief feeds you water. Sets up your tent. Tucks you in tightly.The grief is a shovel laid out. The rain turning the soil to mud. A marked finality with your name.The grief is an etching. Your name turned monument.The grief is finite. The grief is endless. The grief is infinite. The grief is bu     l        ls        h            i           t.The grief is prayer.                 I pray through the water.                    I pray on the beach.I pray through the water.                                  I pray on the beach.Ip            r            a            y. Photo by Jeremy Vessey on Unsplash