Let Grief Sing Its Song

Don’t take random thoughts too seriously
            As they’re old, misshapen crones grumbling from a coil-sprung sofa
            Or clowns doing cartwheels over dismembered bones.

Allow, instead, grief to sing its song,
A catchy tune from long ago
With words you cannot know.
Learn how to sing along like the fluttering of cottonwoods
            Or the whispering of white pines
            Or the moaning of midnight winds.
A sweet elegy to ears and heart,
Sing along, sing along.

Then let boredom tell its story.
A tale told through deep breaths and long-winded pauses.
Uttered as though there is no tomorrow
Because there isn’t.
            And there is.
Tell it like a napping tabby in a sunbeam
            Or a train whistle as it ebbs to someone else’s future
            Or an ocean’s horizon spreading wide and lying perfectly flat.
Tell it loud, tell it loud.

Then let difficulty do its dance.
A complex number with dicey steps
On dancefloors of brittlest marble, cracked and ruined.
Try to follow these footsteps through your own tomorrow
            Or to the beating of another’s aching heart
            Or along with the orchestral strains of solemn weeping
It’s a samba of unutterable calm, isn’t it? If you let it be.
Dance it out, dance it out.

And know today.