July 23, 2025

I had a virgin child named Grief; 

I took her to the market,

where the bustling crowd

elbowed her out

the square. 

I took her to the banquet, where all

the chairs were 

filled. 

In forest was she lost,

in travel did she lag; 

and over time my darling Grief

took residence by my bed. 

And once

by the high-up windows of 

my fellow brother

I caught a glimpse

of a beast

curled up by their

mantle. I mistook

her for my Grief--for so similar

did they sigh; they could have been siblings. 

And that night, on 

my pillow's greeting, I felt 

my darling Grief nudge my 

leg, and my leg did 

earthquake--for 

I swore that when my

Grief did lay her cheek 

against my calf,

in undertone so

crippling sweet, a

billion of her siblings

did shake their sleepers' leg that 

night, in hopes to be taken out in light of day.