When her only son died,
she let others celebrate
his life, while she ignored
the modern-day euphemism,
quietly slipping outside
to scream into a blizzard,
the shrill pitch of grief
curling back to her
as something tangible,
the flurry of ice,
shards of crystals
reflecting
how she really felt—
cold and distant, some
snowy shadow of herself
dream-stalking a ghost,
walking dauntlessly
alone into the storm,
praying
it would take her to him.
But the universe betrayed
her again, not with death,
as it did him, but with life
in the emergency room.
