Grief Written

 I’ve lost a filling, It is gaping when I run my tongue across the bottom of my upper teeth But barely discernible when I smile. When I tell my brother, the dentist to be, over the phone in a panic he tells me “you really need to stop grinding your teeth.”  It is a terrible thing to be reminded Of the teeth that used to gnash beside me some nights I run the tip of my tongue around what was there, accounting for the loss.  I know the rumination will lead to irritation.  I’ve tried to replace, swallow the words. But they work their way out, beneath the grooves of my teeth. One must learn how to grin and bear the silence.

 This is not poetry But I’ve taped a string of words I found and cut from a magazine across the back of my phone it reads, “A full return of optimism.”  The tape is peeling but I don’t mind. I whisper the phrase to myself every time my finger runs against the lifted edge. My friend slept in my bed for weeks, And then my brother for a single night with his knee in my back But I couldn’t complain. Because he slept soundly and didn’t mind the way my cat nestled between his legs. When he mentioned it in the morning, I tentatively mention the way she must’ve felt his unsung sorrow — how she seems to follow where comfort calls. I’m so far from any place I’ve ever called home, I know that this is the time people reinvent themselves but honestly I must admit I like the woman I’ve grown into. I’ve been tempted by the pain, the torture of the past to dispel any part of me any one might claim. But the truth is, When I wake up it is only I and none of them. I am only me. I wonder about th...