grief is the song stuck in your head when you wake up Katy Haas
sometimes i can’t help crying over the bodies of bugs swirling down my shower drain. and tonight i knelt in the grass with gnats in my hair to feed a bumblebee sugar water. while its shredded wings twitched over its back, my shoulders curved under the knowledge that it would still die not long after i stood and walked away. every pet i’ve ever lost, i’ve wrapped in a blanket to hug it tenderly in the earth, dirt under my nails, my knuckles white with grief wrapped around the handle of a shovel, around a bouquet of wildflowers placed over each fresh grave. but my grandma died minutes after i left her side while i was stuck in the drive-thru line at mcdonald’s waiting for a cheeseburger and a coffee and i rested my head on the steering wheel and stared at the tired teenager taking my money and all i could think was: maybe it’s wrong that the only thing i feel is relief.
Still Life 2020
49
