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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Sprung from Grief” Down in the Dirt, v184 (the June 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Lockdown’s Over the Down in the Dirt May-August 2021 issues collection book		get the 420 page May-August 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Sprung from Grief

April Blair


Wherever I went, grief was with me.
My grief entered every room before I did.
It made its presence known again and again, in silence.

I fueled my grief with giant tinderboxes of denial.
I kept it going, as separate from me as possible.
It was in its own little box and bubble.
I tried to build up around it, reinforcing the walls so nothing could leak.

From around my grief sprung bits and pieces of my life.
They were separate, but equal.
When things happened - bad things, awful things, devastating things,
My grief was cumbersome to climb around.
It was huge, looming, leering.
Preventing me from navigating
tragedy with grace.

My grief was my secret, always protected at all costs.
I thought I was pushing it away,
But in truth I was shoving it down, keeping it safe.
The bunker I built protected my grief even from me.

Luckily I could open it up when I wanted to,
To peer at, to examine, to wonder.
I documented each strand of hair.
Studied all the moments where things went wrong.
I never played the Game of Operation with my grief.
I had no intention of removing anything.

For 20 years, I held it down.
It was a Cold War I fought alone.
When I opened Pandora’s Box,

It was a time capsule complete with keepsakes of sorrow.
I removed each piece and placed them on my desk.
I handled them until they were tangible
And I ironed the ugliest parts onto my shirt.

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