Every time your grief cries,
you pick it up, cradle it
like a newborn. But your pain
isn’t precious, not your life-long
responsibility. For each doting moment,
your soul refuses to sing for days – and the world
needs your music too much.
Please leave it be; no more milk. Let it cry
for nights on end unattended. Let it
forget how your heartbeat sounds, the warmth
of your skin. Stop making it soup when it coughs,
setting a place for it at the table or buying it
new clothes. Convert its old room into
a sanctuary for things you adore.
Let your ache become self-sufficient
and grow apart from you,
walk out the door
and forget to call home.