TheBanyanTree: The Tent

[auntie sash]

I have pitched a defiant tent.
2 mil of nylon between myself
and the raging storm of grief.

Generating my own warmth
with frenzied exercise, pacing, and prayer -
Busy work of the soul.

I am shielded from the tears
that burn when they fall
on skin already chapped and raw.

>From my secluded, deluded refuge,
I cautiously poke out my head

Is it still raining?

I pick up her photo album,
reread the clippings,
turn on that beloved song.

Hell yes.
It's pouring out there.

Back inside, I am vigilant for leaks:
Drips at the seam - She would have LOVED watching "Planet Earth"
Gaps in the window - That politician would have pissed her off.
Gusts that lift the edge of the door -  "Walla Walla Sweets - Now In
Season!"

 I weather the storm.
Safe and warm
and dry - mostly.

Somewhere, a teleprompter spits a blurb of bad news
A hard spot of sadness in the world just beyond my bubble.
My arm brushes against it - ever so lightly

In an instant, that contact wicks through my defenses,
surface tension broken, the barrier is now a conduit
and I am helpless against the wave that pours through.

In time, I scoot away from the breach.
Resisting the impulse to poke at the spot that still oozes,
 I dry my eyes - reposition my buckets and towels.

 I have pitched a defiant tent
between myself
and the raging storm.

Just beyond the flap
Grief waits.

- sash
April 2007