Audacity of Grief
Try however hard, the grief refuses to stay the way it began; it seems to change shape the way smoke from a fire changes as it drags itself away from the source and mingles with the rest and become colorless, soulless.
With no one to pick the line on the other end, the phone rings and rings; and one day, it slips her hand.
A fire that singes only the heart and soul douses itself with no tear gas; and one day, even tears dry.
Crouching with just a pillow to my heart and stomach stifle I the ball of grief; lest it also slip away…