Friday [Saturday] Poetry

Grief

There is a black and white charcoal
On the wall, 'Grief.'
I look at it, arms folded tight but careless.
My casual eye flits around, rests for a moment.
My mind is on the coming day.
Preparing for the day's stresses and petty wars.
Making defenses ready.

I glance at Grief - a 2 by 3 foot
Closeup.
I notice the african nose, pursed lips.
This is not my grief.
My defenses mount.

I notice the deep crease
above the bridge of the nose.
The furrowed brow.
My arms imperceptibly loosen.
I breathe deeply.

I see the eyes.
Closed, downcast.
I feel the tired circles underneath.
Exhaustion.
I put my hands in my lap.
The eyes are compelling -
the vulnerability of pain.
I experience the art.
Defenses down. Arms, shoulders and body
Relaxed.
Fortified for what comes.