GRIEF Poem: Grief, by Joan Johnson

There is no word for it the sound
Is null
A glob of water ready to fall
From the edge of a maple leaf
Onto a white table cloth
Hurting the perfection of a tea set
Waiting for mourners
Who will hover together
Eyes down
After the screen door slams
Accidentally
From the kitchen where a child sits
On the floor with marbles
Shooting random rolling orbs
Into corners
Oblivious to the gathering
Of grownups in the garden

Author: poetryfest

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