Grief

       Hello Darkness, my old friend, I did not hear you over the sound of our child practicing her scales on the piano. You always arrive unannounced, just when I think I am protected,cocooned. I sink beneath a chant of plainsong and feel it will protect me, or Tibetan isolation; prayer wheels spinning in my head, a rush of white noise, a roar of blood in my ears, a talisman against your clawing, gnawing, never-letting-go, thinking I will be untouchable there. But you find me and weave your fingers through the white noise closing your cold grip, insistent and serpentine.  Can I ever be free?
       I am transposed, remembering the echo of raindrops on the drum of my umbrella, the syncopated beats of blood and hymns and prayers as we gathered to say goodbye. I never heard your apology as I laid the Lily on your grave. There was no goodbye. The chaos of my mind, an apocalyptic cosmos, consumed me, a noise like animals crying and cursing in anger. I yell my silent anger and fears to your inert form, maintaining social poise lest anyone should be made embarrassed by emotion. How could you leave me alone? Everyone is polite, caring, fearful. Their kid-glove love is like feather-touch: don't rock the boat. It is insubstantial, nervous, unable to break through my protective shell and give comfort. I am left to stand in the noise of my own silence.
     Weeks have passed, months.  And I remain at your mercy. I will carry on, put on the face the world wants to see but I know I will not hear a tree fall in the silence of the forest today, or see the infinity rings spread on the water as the children skip stones across the river. I will not hear the cave mouth swallow and hold its breath as we draw near or see new life sprouting from mossy banks. I am devoid of all but you, Grief.
Please, let me find a path. Let me breathe again.