Today is sour, curdled in its sickly insides.
It’s puffed up and chocked around its throat.
Crooked in its edges.
It drags its swollen belly across time in zig zag sighs.
It hangs its saggy body over my head all year round.
Hissing it’s long ‘I’m nearly here.’
Today it prickles between my bones and skin.
Clamps itself around my chest with steely claws.
At six our memories are in a suitcase.
Stuffy in their space.
I hold them close in you and the you I think of every day.
Grief doesn’t leave.
It’s just replaced.
It turns from one pain to the next in a coin toss.
Curls into a new creature.
Leaving today bitter, congealed, fermented.
And we pull our heavy legs through its waters.
And remember today is just a day, it’s just not like any
other.
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