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
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