She is Grief

She is grief.

Set up home. Make a bed. Come in. I don’t have a choice, do I?

I’ll serve you an empty meal, for what is food when my body has abandoned herself in shock?

She is strength. For she will stand with broken wings covering those she loves. Even when her spine turns to dust. These powder bones, shattered as they may be, mix with mortar of love and memories, and the pores slowly fill to solid. They slowly gain enough strength to rise.

Again. And again.

So come in. I’ll take you in my home for these walls are safe.

She is light. She is dark.

She is grief. She is joy. She is struggling to stay upright. She is dancing with abandon in a kitchen, tea kettle singing along. She is falling flat on asphalt, eyes searching for him in the stars. Tears running divets. She is walking through the door, making food for her babies. Days somehow keep taking time.

She is love. For love is what brought the brokenness. And every single second was worth it.

Her body a painting of all the colors. A washing of life.

The renewal of light brought by the first morning sun. Oh, lovely light.

The deep, heavy blanket of darkness that covers her body. Like standing in the deep woods on a cloud shrouded night.

She is all of them. She is each of them.

She is grief. Set up a home. Make a bed. Set the table. You have painted your walls a canvas of all things beautiful. The laughs. The warm tears.

The days. The nights. The moments. The love so strong it pulled the world right.

She is full. A day of the darkest new light.

For what is life except a hole in my heart that the sun shines through?

~Kalan