How We Take Our Grief

We take our grief privately and in the morning.

And drink our coffee and drink our tea.

We hold the newspaper out with our arms

and we hold the fork that holds the egg that holds

hunger. We put it in our mouth. We put it

in our mouth. Twice the clock strikes three

and privately we sit together. We think

the orange juice is too bright. We pour it

in a glass and think. We drink the brightness

and it disappears. We take the last muffin and

split it into three.

Our two mouths hold each other.

Privately, we think it’s the mind that holds us.

We sit striking the thought. We hold the clock

that holds the mind. We think the clock is

in our arms. We think the clock is our arms.

Privately, the thought disappears. We pour

the morning. We drink the morning together

and split the brightness. We take the morning

out of us and put it in our mouths. We drink

it. We hold our grief out in front of us.

We think this is private. We take our grief

and pour it in a glass. We think we have

mouths we think we have arms to hold it.