you remember grief
as a small jagged stone stuck
in your craw.
never to be swallowed
or spit upon the ground.
it sat there,
on your tongue, salted
and bitter, moving from
side to side.
every day you woke up to
it.
slept with it,
walked and worked.
you wiped the blood
from your lips as the cuts
grew and grew.
people knew, they could
see the look
on your face, how your
words were incoherent,
muddled and disconnected,
strangely
not you. then one day you
noticed it was gone,
and others did too.
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