GRIEF

On those nights she found weeds growing in

her body.

Long tendrils of tangled shapes

twisting between bones, slicing

like tight string.

She lay shivering in the long darkness

of morning.

Her green velvet leaves stroked, pinched.

Poisoned.

So only gaps were left between the cracks

like where the wind blows through at night

and sprawls her sprinkled dirt around

her garden.

But by dawn she’s out re-potting.

Checking on all the bulbs.

And sweeping the path.