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    My daily writing--emails, journal entries, marginalia, more emails, blog posts, and tweets--shapes me as a writer, helping and hindering the big stuff I'm trying to accomplish. Every word counts.

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Practical Grief

After news of death,
prayers, rationalizations
flood inboxes and Facebook walls
from ghouls ready to bleed virtual grief
before numbness has given way
to the tingling pain that must fill you–
a true deluge: plastic as air, heavy
as grease. The pain fades to some dull
awareness that you’ve been occupied. You must
find places to stow it in your body before trudging on.

Even if you’ve felt this burden before
you must feel it again each time
news like that comes while fending off
unsolicited testimony that she’s
no longer in pain
and in a
better place now
. You think
you know how it will feel,
and you want to believe
the ghouls, so numb
with belief and so
busy typing they
have the luxury
of not feeling.

But you know
when you look at her face
that she only looks
like she’s sleeping
. No one is
there anymore. You find
your way to a chair, sway
as you sit, feel the pain collect
into a sebaceous lump
and lodge itself
where it will slow you down but
not throw you off balance
as long as you remember
it’s there.

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3 Responses

  1. This is beautiful.

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