A Plea

Poem on grief

Any moment stumbling past that isn't blanketed in a stifling heat

I find myself scurrying to peel back my curtains, and open my windows

Cracking the doors, begging the wind to blow through



My bones know that so much of him is out in the world

Flitting through the ether, embedded in the earth



I have nothing to lock inside my walls

Nothing to grasp onto

This wasn't where he settled, it wasn't where he lived

I open up my walls – perhaps to let some of me out

But doubtlessly as an earnest plea for a gust of him to whirl through



To ease the scorch of the heat on my skin, and expel the staleness that has suffocated my lungs