I share my grief in private places.
Blanket pressed hard to my face
in the dark, in the bathroom, door
closed behind me bent over the sink.

I share my grief in private places.
Smoothing it with lotion onto the
skin of my belly, deceptive and
swollen, yet emptied.
Bereaved in its own special way
echoing the pain that throbs beneath
the surface of every blood-run vein,
every artery connecting all the parts
of my useless body.

I share my grief in private places.
In my thoughts. In my feelings.
In the moments between when
they look at me, in the moments
their backs are turned.
I share my grief in my solitude.

I share my grief in the patches of
Light and in the patches of Dark, that
mark the timeline of my life today.

I share my grief.

copyright 2007 mds. All Rights Reserved.