The Art of Grieving by Kushal Poddar

Published by

j re crivello

on

The floral scarf flies far.

I stoop. I gather. I turn

and see that I have eclipsed

you and everyone else with

my narcissistic fist held

before my eyes.

.

Rain hits the stairs.

The place of worship is

not ready for the God,

and we open our umbrellas,

and we find the broken rods.

I know this blue and beige

scarf from another funeral.

The art of grieving we practice so hard.