Poetry | Journal

what is grief to teach us
that the days are short and the sunset is a cliche
how a sweater can itch when it never did before
but now, it is certainly garbage
what is a heavy chest to mean
quiet, like the void of small talk
breaths like little sips of water after anesthesia,
little gasps in meter behind the wheel
what is crying in traffic to do
hesitation at a yellow
the rear view mirror swearing, shouting go
don’t they know
the time saved running a light is swallowed whole by the word goodbye