Grief, and: Self
Rent from DeepDyve- Grief, and: Self
Grief
After my father diedmy sister started
looking for signs:a slanted picture frame,
a bird by the window,a sudden breeze.
Everything meant something.Meanwhile, the world offered
chocolate cake, homemadebreads, and vases of white lilies.
Inside, with mirrors knocked overand dishes piling in the sink,
we accepted condolencesand smiled, while each
new sign burnedbrighter than grief. [End Page 125]
Self
What am I made of? Eggs over easyand white toast. A mid-April notionof love under spring's harsh blossom,or a basket of red coxcombs and daisiesbeside my father's casket.It's hard to think beyond the houseon the hill—the garden filled withcorn and radishes. When I was fiveI slept by a watermelon in the full moonand woke up to walk in the grasslandsthat are now covered in new homes and fences.Perhaps I am merely anxious puffs of breath at 3 a.m.since my mother said I am cursed and belongelsewhere only to be missed someday. [End Page 126]
Jona Colson's poetry has appeared in Subtropics, Crab Orchard Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, and others. He lives in Washington, DC.
