I want to claw my way underground,
and bring you back home with me
I’ve heard that grief is love
with no place to go
so I run.
I run to your resting place
and sing to you.
I run to my little boys
so I can see your button nose.
I run to the other moms
who have said goodbye
to dead daughters limp inside them–
who know the ultimate betrayal of self.
I run to my husband
who held my hand in disbelief
as I forced you out of my warm body
and onto a cold hospital bed.
I run to anything
that might bring the smell or sight or feel of you
back into my insides
I run and run and run
In circles with no place to go.
but how do I run to you, god?
how am I supposed to see you
through the deranged madness and anger and sorrow?
how will I ever find you
when the last thing I want to do is look?