grief wins again
grief lies on my back
pinning me to the bed
I am exhausted by her
she is a master manipulator
she follows me to the bathroom
in the mirror I see my father’s face
I have his chin, eyes, hair and bad teeth
grief gloats
she hits me whenever and wherever she wants
is this the fifth?
she hits me more than usual on November 5th
Daddy’s death date
Leave me alone, I yell
I splash water on my face
she waits for me in the bedroom
the first thing I see in there is Daddy’s red plaid shirt
grief is still in charge
not all the time, but often enough
I crawl back into bed,
she has won again
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