“Grief” is the thing with scales
~After Emily Dickinson
“Grief” is the thing with scales
clinging clammy and leaden
as an armoured suit. Nothing
enters or escapes—neither the light
nor the dark. This reptilian body-
bag hugs cold as a coffin.
O—shed the scales like silver
shillings. Hear how they tinkle
when they drop: the peal of
a gypsy’s laughter. Dance!
Discover how it feels to be
alive again. Keep moving!
The scales shall fall away.
Salomé’s veils sloughed
like petals till
you are left naked
wizened as a newborn
soft and ready
for feathers
to sprout again.
About the Creator
Paris Rosemont
Thai Australian poet. Author of poetry collections 'Banana Girl', 'Barefoot Poetess', and chapbook >>glitch<<
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