-- Posted by noraa at 7:44 pm on Jan. 6, 2009 Grief's Punctuation When it happens, there will be tears And not innocent tears, the kind that run down in single file, no These will be ragged tears Tears that will pin you to the bed and close your throat You will finally understand what it is to cry a river. But gradually, after gentle prodding, you'll get up Wipe the tears away Get on with your life, trembling a little that afternoon As you sit with friends You'll try not to think about the way your face seems tighter now. Maybe weeks from it, you'll look back and cry again Late, late at night, while a storm brews cold outside And thunder punctuates the sky And as much as you cling to it, time, like water in cupped hands, will pass. And much, much later, you'll be sitting in a canoe in a lake, almost alone, paddle puncturing the water's glassy surface then coming up for air-- You'll think of it again and freeze for a second, remembering. The paddle, the boat, the lake will go still Even the wind will seem to pause A scent will drift through the breeze and play a melody in your ear So beautiful that your throat will ache for years when you try again to recall it Because that smell brings it all back For a minute or so you'll close your eyes and let yourself remember that smell, those days, that life But you'll realize that it's getting late and you must be going And you'll pick up the paddle and stretch your arms out And wave a half-goodbye with a quiet hand, while the other one reminds you that it was only a smell, and rhythmically rows you away. -- Posted by Amazingness99 at 7:48 pm on Jan. 6, 2009 This is beautiful Nora, I really, really, really, REALLY wish I could write like this. AMAZING.