Grief works in mysterious ways.
A response poem written for Lights on Park Avenue Round 8, in response to the prompt that's Jack Gilbert's "Married."
(See the end of the work for notes.)
Steve came back from the funeral,
knees aching to crawl, eyes burning
with an awful heat
that wouldn’t resolve into tears.
For two months he didn’t cry—
not with Peggy;
not in the shower;
not alone at Peggy’s night-quiet kitchen table
at 2 a.m.
Three months later, Peggy held out
a screwdriver to him,
and he stared
at the unyielding metal,
a wounded-animal sound
leaking from behind his clenched teeth.
Tumblr post here.
Thank you for reading. 💗
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