Being in mourning is like
Walking around with a huge, black
but invisible dog tied to your back.
You’ve told some people about it and others you haven’t
And many of those you have a hard time remembering about the dog.
People want to talk to you about things
But you have a hard time concentrating
Because of all that weight.
It hurts when someone, with no bad intentions
asks you why you look strained, or
asks you to carry something for them.
You are not doomed to this forever.
You will carry it until you get to the prescribed
end of your wanderings and come to
an open field you can’t yet imagine
and then you will untie it
and set the black dog free
to run as it pleases.
After you have returned to the city
From time to time
You will hear it baying somewhere
or a dark shape will surprise you
by your window.