Grief is another land

grief is another land
a foreign place
where my passport and currency are not recognized
and I don’t quite know the language
people try to talk to me but it all sounds like chatter and batter
and I politely excuse myself and cover my ears
go looking for a quiet place
to look around me
notice the strangeness of the land
contours which define an absence of her
carved by death, death,
death echoes in the air and hangs as grey mist

the hugeness and the ordinariness of death