Grief

There is a slick grey smear down my sternum

like a seal stranded ashore

all wet black eyes and oily, lichened skin

cold weight between aching breasts.

Like particles entangled

with a universe between them

but still feeling the push and pull of the other.

That is what we are.

A chemical reaction. A kinetic energy. A rather simple

mathematical formula.

I dream of wrapping my hand around this grief.

I want to pluck it from my chest

feeling the sudden relief of its removal.

I would kiss it softly, fondly--

for it has been a long friend of mine--

and then I would slip it into the sea.

If ever there was a homeland for sorrow, it is the sea.

I would watch the dark shape of the thing disappear

into the cold waters.

A seal sliding between the waves.

A piece of jasper sinking into sand.

I would be sorry to see it go.

We are entangled, you and I,

as much as any two particles of matter ever could be.

When I have drowned our shared grief,

will you breathe again too?

Sand, stone, sea, sky.

All the grey things of the world now contain us.

We are so heavy.