How To Write A Poem About Grief: A draft

You can’t. 

no anecdote seems like a good place to start. 

and when you start, how do you end?

my body hugs the sheets tighter as each hour passes, 

it’s been 14. 

the last time I ate was friday,

       thursday,

                   wednesday. 

leaving calls and messages unanswered becomes routine, 

I forget about the nice boy in Brooklyn who wants to take me to dinner. 

No, start here. 

I know you mean well, 

when you ask me how I am.

but are you prepared to hear my answer if it’s anything other than 

I’m okay. 

or what about when you ask during a moment of joy 

and my answer sparks your curiosity of why 

I’m

Not 

More 

Devastated. 

why are emotions supposed to stay constant?

who are you to tell me how I should feel?

Be strong. 

Stay positive. 

Your tenacity is admirable. 

the words echo louder

while I’m silently screaming 

shut the 

No, start here. 

I walk through the halls

of my childhood home. 

the walls remain the same, 

while the color seems to fade. 

I’m surrounded by pictures 

that reminds me of you. 

haunted, 

no, blessed.

I’m dancing again.

in a translucent skirt. 

my pink slippers glide across the wooden floor. 

I take a bow on stage, 

all I see is your smile in a crowd of hundreds. 

I hug you tight, 

somehow you hold me tighter. 

I feel your warmth,

through my thick skin. 

It’s with me forever, 

or at least right now.