Today's poem is by Ruth Awad

When Grief Made Us
       

In the new year, the ghosts show up.
The family down the street cheers

because it was not their turn to be haunted.
They do the neighborly thing

and ask if I need anything. Then they stop
coming around and it's a little worse.

Of course I tried to outrun my fate. At first I shut
the windows and pulled the curtains.

But when sleet plucked the glass and I could no longer
stand the chatter of their teeth,

I opened the door. They touch each picture frame
with their blue hands. They insist

TV static is better than the quiet. Every night
is a tornado siren. From civil dawn to civil dusk.

I make long lists of what to do next.
When my hair falls out again, they touch

the silk-white of my scalp. Tender as a mother. Holding my feet
when I am too sad to move from the couch.

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Copyright © 2023 Ruth Awad All rights reserved
from Sugar House Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission