Grief is the little girl in the back
Of my throat,
Clawing her way out so I
Can hear what she has to say.
So I can look in the mirror and
Recognize what I see;
So I can hear my mom call
My name and know it’s mine.
Grief is the little girl down
The street,
Laughter chiming through the
Wind to bless my ears.
Grief is the girl I didn’t kiss
Today; how eighth grade
Was her hardest year and she
Can’t tell her parents she’s gay
Because her dad voted for Trump.
Grief is the cursor blinking
On the white page;
A quiet pleading to be filled with
Words that make it beautiful.
Grief is my mother.
Grief is my mother.
Grief is my mother and
How she told me she’s glad I
Was born the day her dog died
Because she needed the distraction.
Grief is my mother.
Grief is my mother and the
Hug I didn’t return
The night she cleared all the razors
Out of my room.
Grief is my mother.
Grief is my mother and how
She knew my dad wasn’t ready
To be a father, but carried me
Anyways.
Grief is my mother.
Grief is my mother.
Grief is my mother.