Grief
waves not in sets,
crosscurrents, rip tides,
slapping, gasping
not a lake shore gentle lapping, nor
the predictable surfable sets, but instead
demonic beasts wrestling with
bared fangs, claws slashing,
rip tides sucking seaward
cross currents randomly churning
foam and sand swirling
gasping panic, lungs filling
pulled under again and again,
smacked down first
this way and that by
loneliness, agony, angst,
rage, fury, anger,
hurt, pain, throbbing misery,
confusion, fears and phobias,
haunting dreams and magical thoughts,
sobbing, sighing, bleeding, dying of
sorrow and grief
the waves exacerbated by squalls of
well-meaning platitudes,
cold bible verses, and
superficial pop psychology;
or numbed by drugs, only to
reëmerge in the grocery isle
