Grief Like a Curled Fist 


Grief like a curled fist strike ready like an unfurled fiddle fern
Soft
Fresh
Green
And all it takes
Is the sun
It blossoms unexpectedly
Blackly
Ironically
Full of mirthless laughter
Furl your fist once more
I want to enjoy the sun
I want it to give me strength
Not suck me down into quick sand
I will stand on the edge
I will let it wash and ebb over me

And I will stand yet.

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