Words bounce off of me
like rubber daggers,
they sting and bruise
but cannot do the job.
I watch as the wind blows dying leaves,
scatters them apart.
– – I think I understand what they feel like,
I think they are r e a d y for Winter.
I live in a season of almost.
Forgive me my sacrilege,
but I cannot give thanks today.
You note that I am surrounded by love,
yet all of these things feel extraneous to me,
the audience cheering on this tragedy play,
applauding a great performance.
They say that no man is an island,
yet I am,
I am Atlantis
with the waves lapping at my feet,
feeling the salty spray.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
In memory of my daddy, whilst trying to comprehend this unthinkable thing that is grief.