to break bread

I went out to lunch with my grief

and she was a year late.

when she finally walked in the door

the whole room stood at attention—

even the sunlight cast through the window.

she was not covered in a shroud

or head to toe in funeral black

rather she wore the same clothes as me

without regard for faux pas

and sighed as she slipped into her seat.

she only ordered jasmine green tea

and when she was done speaking

she simply stared at me,

brown eyes coals with paragraphs

simmering yet she said nothing.

For the first time,

I met her gaze.

⠀

I went out to dinner with my grief

and she was already there waiting for me.

quiet buoying between us

we sat on a building’s ledge

traffic crawling like ants

on the ground below,

hundreds of lives too far to touch,

leaving us behind, suspended.

we ate only bread, the kind

that goes bad after a day

if you don’t savor it

and gave the leftovers to the birds

that refused to take me with them.

hands were on my back

and I never knew if she wanted

to push me or keep me tethered.