Where does sorrow stay? Where does it reside as days go by floating above pain that’s sunk into cells, some part of my body waiting to manifest and be expressed in honest moments or sickness or rage, pain projecting its existence The dog is buried, grave rocks settle, her body yielding, Earth rhythms, life and death. We cried as we put her in a box and sealed her to our past. As sorrow lives, I’ll invite it into my house to lap fresh water, a dripping mess, then put it on its bed to rest, sharing space, radiant warmth of winter’s fire.
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