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Grief is Love without a home

At first, she hid in the pockets

Of your favorite corduroy sweater.

The one worn only on special occasions.

But soon she got too big for that.

That’s when she started filling in

The cupboards and the shelves.

In the mornings, she’d sit on the spice rack.

At night, she’d be in the pantry.

This too, she outgrew.

Eventually, she began to feel like an old friend.

I’d find her in the closet

Hanging among the cardigans and henleys

The coats and the turtlenecks.

She’d cling to them like cigarette smoke

Woven into the fabric.

Eventually she began to find me when I was out.

She’d be at the park for picnics,

At the movie theaters in the adjacent seat.

She’d call shotgun on my way to work

And be asleep in the backseat on my way home.

She’d hold my hand on our evening walks

And be the first to greet me in the morning.

I Loved her, despite being heavy with her

Because she had nowhere else to go.



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