I Scrape Grief Out with My Thumbnail
written by: Sreeja Naskar
grief settled
in the brown ring
at the bottom of my tea cup
like the body of a girl
no one looks for.
i drank the heat.
left the dirt.
i think that means something.
you said you understood grief.
germany.
gandhi.
not me.
funny how easy it is
to talk about war
when it isn’t your mouth
that smells like smoke every morning.
there’s a girl
still rotting
in the crawlspace of your voicemail.
i left her there,
voice shaking in 15 seconds
of permission
you never heard.
i chew the tea leaves.
they taste like
burnt fruit,
like a woman left too long
on the stove.
you wanted poems about healing.
but i only know how to write
dead girls
in lowercase.
chalk outlines.
fridge smells.
small, sour things.
i kept your sweater
until the cuffs reeked of
wet ash & old breath.
then i fed it to the river.
the river gave it back.
twice.
and both times
it was colder.
grief is not a season.
it’s the sludge behind the faucet.
the mold between the toes.
the meat you keep frozen
just in case
she ever comes home hungry.
i used to think
if i held still enough
the sorrow would
crawl off me.
now i know—
it lays eggs.
you sip your tea.
say it’s bitter.
i nod.
don’t mention the tooth
i found
in mine.
- I Scrape Grief Out with My Thumbnail - July 29, 2025
