I
try
to con-
strain
this grief
tuck it in-
to
a box
but it bleeds,
it seeps out like
spilled
ink and
smears. it minds
not the new, drags
me back in with it
look
look, feel
me, feel me
tug, feel me wrest
the ground from beneath
your feet once more. don’t get
up
stay there.
Feel me, feel —
Don’t run from me,
it commands; No–it
begs; it pleads of me, “Stay.”
The more I tug, the harder
it
grips me.
My muscles
ache as I strain
against it — My breath
burns in my lungs — My heart
races, then dulls to a thud
as I collapse into it — cease
my
straining.
Why is this
Everything and
nothing at once; why
must the ungraspable
swell — a bezoar of pain in-
digestable? I fear from the
outside, looking in, it appears I’ve
put
myself
here. Why are
you on the ground?
Just get up. It has
been long enough. Get up
now. Stop being so goddamn
dramatic. Life goes on. And so
it does. And has. Three thousand six-hun-
dred fifty-three days of life going on.
kfw 2021
Undusted Corners 