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The Origin of Grief


Image by __ drz __

It began while the honey still sweetened our tongues.
Snowflakes umbrellaed the garden flowers

as the hand of God waking us from our slumbers.

Outside, the birds are returning home in

flock, afraid someday they might not live to

own their wings
if all that remains of the sky is bloodshot.

In the bathroom, the water envelops my

and memory unbuttons into a freshly dug


The body re-mourns the past where a coffin

is a pathway for a new beginning. On TV,

the autopsy
reads George Floyd died of cardiopulmonary


Another says he trailed the wind’s feet when

the breath became
too short. If you ever paddled a canoe in the

face of a storm,

ever psalmed a requiem for a dead brother,

ever watched a bird struggle against the wind

until its wings become broken umbrellas,

you will know how calm is the burden

ushered through the mouth of a gun

than the fist of another man.

In the dream, candlelights keep burning on

the skin of darkness.
Floyd unfurls as a garden rose into the sun

and slumbers

into the night as sphinx without its wings.

In my mouth, every song sharpens a knife

for the body
swollen on too many loss stories. The origin

of grief

ends as a mirror into missing memory.

Jonathan Endurance is a B.A Holder in English and Literature. His poetry appears in or forthcoming in Rattle Magazine, Up the StairCase Quarterly, The Cardiff Review, The Ellis Review, The Rising Phoenix Review, Eunoia Review, DeLuge Journal, Indolent Books, African Writer, Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, and else- where.

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