GRIEF Poem: Strain on the Strings, by Elly Ghorbani

Fear is a privilege. You worry that it might happen and you worry some more and then it happens and it’s not fear anymore, it’s your mom’s uncle calling you on the phone saying “Call me whenever you need anything, anything at all.”

The screaming stops eventually. It’s a simple fact of lung capacity. By the time your throat’s recovered you’re already telling them that it’s fine. And it is, in some sense. It didn’t kill you, like you said it would. It didn’t even come close.

There are a lot of things that still haven’t happened. Make sure your throat’s in good shape. You’ll need it to top your last performance.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest