Grief, upon silent steps you wind your way upon my senses and my weakened nature.
You are an unexpected guest that stays beyond the time you start to smell, then move on to your next destination.
Through daylight and into the depths of the darkened star lit sky, you hang like a pall over my head.
Grief, you are like a dense fog that hugs mountainsides and flows even thicker to the valley of my soul.
You hover, looking for cracks in my shell to come inside and invade me.
Like a cancer, you are relentless at times, waiting for me to seek treatment.
It’s then that I find consolation meeting the force head on.
~Monica Sleap 3.22.14
Written from the prompt “Talk to Grief” at the Farther Along:Writing Toward Reflection, Self-Awareness and Healing” symposium at the Sawtooth Center, Winston-Salem NC