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Grief is a ghost.

“I welcome you all,” she creaks from the rafters.
“Orphans, Parents, Widows, Widowers,
Sisters, Brothers, Friends.”
We shudder at her breath, just beyond the surface when a rock star dies,
we hear a friend has cancer, we read the news,
imagining her as some long haired harpy with claws and a veil.

But once you’ve entered in…you feel the change.
She’s not so frightening after all, just elusive and strange.
At times, you escape her magnetic pull.
Still you can’t see her in that space, it’s her world now.
She’s dark, she’s light, she’s old, she’s new. She’s vast.
You can only feel her as she swoops down at any given moment,
passing through you with a memory, a song, an exotic emotion…
most likely when you’ve felt fine for a few days,
when you aren’t paying attention.

You begin to keep your guard up, but she disappears again.
No doubt visiting another hurting soul, pulling them in,
playing with their minds until she remembers you’re still there.
She likes variety. She likes surprise.
You can feel yourself toughening up as you learn the game,
eyes adjusting to the dark.


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Writing Group