floated hovered and came to rest then on the
decorative ceramics fouling them a little
but not so anyone would notice, really, because
of the attractive way the glazes flowed and pooled
over the edges, like thoughts rising toward
the apogee of their expression, arcs that slowed
as they attained their last extremities until
they seemed as still as the perfection they implied.
GEORGIA SHREVE
Time ofMourning
How long are we allowed to mourn?
A week for every year with our beloved,
A month for every child we bore together,
A day for every trauma shared?
Or will we be granted an extra helping of time,
A cushion to absorb the shock?
We mourn faster here than elsewhere,
Women get a larger share than men,
And everyone gets more
For mourning children.
But how can we pace our grief
To bring it to a stop just in time?
And squeeze the last drops in
When we feel our time run out?
If we fail to stop
We can be convicted of excess -
Of wallowing -
So we tuck the extra inside
And smuggle it
Through the rest of life.
