Waiting for My Grief

I am waiting for my grief to appear

 

I can feel it, hovering in the shadows,

 

     biding its time.

 

 

Meanwhile, the days go on,

 

 with their “how are you?’s” and “Thank you’s” and “May I?”

 

those polite veneers that grease the wheels

 

        of the daily round. 

 

 

Elsewhere, the world is burning, 

 

      the shit-storm to come is gathering its unstoppable power, 

 

           ready and eager to hurt and harm. 

 

   the family of abusive uncles and mean-spirited aunts and strange cousins

 

         have showed up on our doorstep 

 

                and barged into our house uninvited.

 

But Grandmother Grief is nowhere to be seen. 

 

 

Today, a group of 7^th graders sang a song “What About Us?” 

 

    Ukeleles in hand and still innocence shining

 

                on their beautiful faces, they sang: 

 

 What about us?
What about all the times you said you had the answers?
What about us?
What about all the broken happy ever afters?
What about us?
What about all the plans that ended in disaster?
What about love? What about trust?
What about us?

 

There was the moment when I felt the doors on the dam of Grief begin

to rattle, the floodgates poised to open wide and give Her

      Her full voice. 

 

But it didn’t come. Not yet. 

 

We, who vowed to love and nurture and protect our children, have sold

  them down their river for a cheaper hamburger

           and a few extra points in our portfolio. 

What more reason does Grief need to shake us to our core?

 

But Grief abhors an invitation with an expected time and place. It sits 

 waiting for its own moment. 

 

And so I am still waiting for Grief to appear. 

 

I can feel her, hovering in the shadows,

 

     biding her time.