It was at that moment,
stood barefoot on the patio,
chapped heels and bruised toe
when I remember how it felt to grieve.
The fall, you see
does not come like a swallow
diving deep between a cavern.
It is like potholes.
Or speed bumps.
Or cracks in the garden paving.
They,
(Yes. Grief is a they)
Catch your skin off guard like
dropped pins or
dent your tyres before
you have had time to slow down.
They wait and make their move.
(Sometimes they leave me for months)
Sometimes I wonder if they have
flocked south for winter.
But,
Like potholes.
Or speed bumps.
Or cracks.
They always come back
Featured in Episode 6 – Shall I rap this? (User submitted episode)
