Grief has arrived
like an unexpected guest,
slipping through the door
without a sound—
no suitcase,
no warning,
just the heavy hush
of presence.

It sits beside me
at the kitchen table,
fingers tracing circles
in the dust,
sips from my cup
and lets the silence
stretch
and stretch.

Grief unpacks itself
in the quiet hours—
folds memories
into the corners
of my heart,
lays sorrow
like a blanket
over morning’s light.

It lingers in the hallways,
pauses at photographs,
breathes in the scent
of old sweaters,
and sometimes
curls up at my feet
like a loyal, aching shadow.

Grief asks nothing
but to be noticed,
to be given
a little space
at the table,
to be held
without fear
until, in time,
it learns
how to rest.

©2025 S. Mottet bloomhearty.com

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