by Maureen Scott Harris
such a small grief this disappointment
a minor heft and cost yet it spawns
an empty ache words arguing
Stop.
grasp the smallness clearly its depth
and sorrow a small loss is still a loss
choose to clench it like something not
swallowed a scrape in the chest
or give it to the wind the one blowing
this morning from the northwest
its cold delicate touch almost tender
watch snow blow smooth across the fields
see how it lies there reflecting light
in shades of white gray and blue
its uninsistent silence let go, let
go of self and word align
yourself with weather grieve
the larger loss the way your thoughts
narrow to a waiting room
where nothing breathes
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 2