Mourning
Was it last night I told you
I had some mourning to do
but wasn’t sure
how to do it,
how it would look?
As if mourning
was patient, would make
an appointment. As if mourning
was a rainstorm
that I might prepare for
with galoshes
and a rubber coat.
As if grief wasn’t greedy
and didn’t love
to sneak up on a person,
when she thinks she’s safe
miles above the world
in her airplane seat. As if
it wasn’t determined
to swallow her up
to hold her down
while she chokes
on dry pretzels
and sickly sweet apple juice.
Was it just last night I told you
I had some mourning to do
but didn’t yet know
how you could help? I’ll let you know,
I said. As if I might simply ask
to borrow an umbrella.