The word
bereft
sits on my chest
both a heaviness
and an
emptiness
Like a cat,
lonely, enormous , and
exquisitely painful
But lovely too
it the way that music
can sometimes be
And I walk
through the world
like that
with that weight
and that emptiness
on my chest,
in my chest,
I go through the empty motions
of a life, of sorts,
and no one ever notices.
*This one is worth going back to and doing some fiddling, I think, once NaPoWriMo is over.
In Other Words 