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.

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