Grief Encounter
Just when you think the waters are safe,
that there’s air to breathe
and walking upright is normal again,
it strikes.
A freak wave,
or rogue wind
turns you cartwheels
with a sucker punch.
Today Dad came calling
and I’m breathless,
head swims in an
ether-induced haze.
If nothing exists in a vacuum
how does nothing
manages to hurt so much
leaving scars on scars?
As is the way of the English,
I fight fire with tea,
dunk biscuits the way my
mind soaks in memories.
But you can’t drink tea
with a stiff upper lip.
As I sip his voice echoes
and a smile returns.
Not at a remembrance,
but how awkward he would find this;
emotion, outward displays of affection
and the lack of decent biscuits in the south.
