When grief begs you to stay
in bed for the day,
puts his claws on your thighs,
whispers that you owe him
in all this dark,
say no.
Say silence kills.
Say you are drowning
in something bigger than yourself
and you cannot afford the damage.
When grief offers you
a third glass of wine,
a ride home, a chest to fall asleep on,
leave. Remember
that everything is easier to love
in the blur.
When grief invites you
for a fourth date,
a fifth,
another sleepover,
do not promise you will call.
Tell him there is someone waiting for you
in your house/in your skin/
in the bottom drawer of forgiveness.
Tell him you have a life to live.
Tell him you have all of this body
that still needs to be figured out.
Say you are figuring it out.
Say you are busy.
Say exhausted.
Say I am sorry for making you
part of my plague.