Villanelle For Grief

Villanelle for Grief I try to wear my widow’s weeds with flair you know go out into the world a bit, not stay indoors and hide, but grief sits on my shoulder like an old black crow In many ways I am the same, though time is passing slow I’ve done my time – release me now – I’ve mourned enough and cried I try to wear my widow’s weeds with flair you know I’ll not let them tangle in my hair, I’ll not rend my clothes, or show the wild one who lives now deep inside but grief sits on my shoulder like an old black crow I’ll keep his house and garden well, and watch the seasons flow, I’ll do my make-up, take great care not to let things slide, I try to wear my widow’s weeds with flair you know his death was shocking, a violent, piercing, blow, the tremors, they ran far and wide that sunny Friday when he died and grief sits on my shoulders like an old black crow so in this town, and in this house, I watch the children grow go to the park and swing and slide, then pace the room from side to side I try to wear my widow’s weeds with flair you know but grief sits on my shoulder like an old black crow Jan 2017