Day 66

grief is a quiet color - 
 gardenia who lost her scent - 
a reckoning.

 grief is without an hour - 
has no second hand -
 the face on a clock, gone.

 there is only space
 and a vacuous ledge to lean into. 
my fear - not of falling
 but that i will jump.

 when i am a whirling dervish of doing
 i can only be one way -
 productive.
 my heart sits on the sidelines
 cheering us both on
 but would never dare to interrupt. 

i come here to be reminded of the color:
 magenta
 fuscia 
aqua marine 
blue 
a light yellow blouse carrying bones.
 flesh and heart held up in the mix.

 i come here to celebrate
 even though i do not recall the occasion
 until I am here
 and sometimes
 not at all.

 i sit.
i admit.
i pull away from the ledge 
enough to breath
 but not so far as to pretend
 it isn't there. 

my grief is a yellow tricycle -
 empty basket -
 under a timber of sun. 

my grief is a magical final good-bye 
i was not there to make -
 with all the busyness
 of being busy.
 the doing of regret.

 they say that is a stage of grieving - 
as if recognizing its components 
could allow for some dismantling - 
but it is intact, i say.
 as certain as a two minute timer.
 this is how we are given a reprieve.
 maybe even forgiveness.
 the landmark for time.