Grief   Not: I’m so sad, but: I forgot my keys again. Not: I know I’ll always miss you, but: this food has no flavor. Not: oh please, God, bring her back, but: I wore the wrong shoes. And people continue to speak, they say it’s a beautiful day, quite unaware that beauty’s been revoked, mindless that May’s the same as December, that nothing’s fair and nothing matters, that jokes might as well be Chinese. Their laughter is dust, their pain is dust, everything’s dust. Forecast for hell: rain. Whatever. Forecast for heaven: rain.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont June 2012