The Shape of Grief ~ Molly Senecal

The Shape of Grief

The shape of grief –

is 1,788 square feet with four bedrooms, two bathrooms

a mangled orange tree in the backyard

(that we tried to save, but it died anyways)

wide swaths of crabgrass punctuated with a wooden sign – sold.

The shape of grief –

is a round-bellied lizard, a temperamental tabby cat with short legs – both long gone

how you loved them, how they loved you

(and how we love you, still)

They exist somewhere out of reach, and all we are left with are these memories of what was.

The shape of grief –

is the infinite expanse of the universe, folded upon itself like a sheet

until every continuum can be cradled in the space between two arms

(the space that should hold a child, that should hold you)

then folded smaller, and smaller still, until all that is left is a black hole.

You once told me that anything near a black hole will be pulled in, destroyed. All laws of space, time and matter are defied. What goes in, never comes back.

I close my eyes and the black hole spreads across the sky like a raven with –

thick

black

wings.

Molly Senecal, 4/16/24