Room for Grief

I’m forced to make

a special room inside

a new-made room for grief

and I must live there all my waking

wanting to dust, to polish

yet no chair or table present.

I stand cloth-poised

and try to conjure something

to occupy my hands

my time

my energy

that so want some activity

to pass the hours

’til clock time frames

the frequency of tears

and slows the sorrow sobbing

to a single stream.

Then soon the cobwebs come

and I must divide

the dreams of yesteryear

from those of future

foretold but not to be.

14 June 2022

Ann G. O’Dell