Polo

Grief is a punch in the throat

while my lips are wrapped around my favorite piece of hard candy.

It’s the lump in my throat,

choke as the sugar melts,

pain in my chest,

stitch in my side.

I walked through the doorway.

My eyes touched briefly over the waddled-up blanket on the floor

and for the briefest of moments

I saw your shape –

serene curl of sleep.

You were there.

So, when the moment passed

I felt my heartbeat soft in my ears,

pulse behind my eyes

affixed,

lowered to the spot you were.

I broke.

Grief is a punch in the throat

while I’m carrying a load of laundry.

It’s allowing the clothing to fall,

delicate debris,

at my feet.

It is my husband watching a voyage of pain

crawling up my face.

It is the surprise of falling to my knees,

keening into a white blanket,

wishing it were you.

© Laura A. Lord, 2020

Thank you MindLoveMisery for the prompt.