I look at my raised feet beefy with squish Purple-skin design with lizard like texture Aching from too much pacing.
I can't seem to level this Mount Everest of fatigue With the right amount of sleep Not to mention getting rid of the malaise and dead wood brain I 've found the bottom of the slimy swamp I need help
I call my friend Dana who manages to mouth wisdom -the missing link "That's what grief will do to you" she said. A hot flush of tickles sweeps down my neck And finds the crack in the teapot Either draining the life out or letting the light in I can't decide which- maybe both
Fifteen months counting bodies, selling shots, Making masks as if they were a World War II victory garden pleading with the reluctant ones to wear masks tethered to an imaginary six-foot leash of separation I accept this coarse blunt description as I say it to myself.
When I see the vast mosaic of thousands of faces Whirling around the inside of a kaleidoscope like Small crystals, all dead. Or them drowning in their own secretions alone As the Still Living peer through the window Stunned to see the machines convert to flat lines... If I feel that horror, taste that liquor of extinction... My heart falls silent unable to thump
The fatigue dulls the threat for a while The body registers ebbing tides of energy That's when the robot kicks in Make the bed, no dirty dishes ever in the sink, Two loads of washing- vacuum, vacuum, vacuum Devise 10 new ways to cook oatmeal And the tiny toy train circles the little living room tracks Faster, faster, faster
Grief lives like robust bread dough Punch it down but it pops up again and again Can I let the grief out? Will I evaporate?
Colleen Broderick
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