One of my guests

I have had guests overstaying their welcome
It’s not unusual, nothing new
Some eat at my kitchen table nibbling away the last of everything I have
Some water my plants, some dust my roof
Some bitch about the view, some move my furniture loudly
Some bring friends, some bring lovers 
Eventually, they leave — one by one, or at a go

I can tell you this — 
nothing lasts in this house

The spiders eat their webs and crawl out my window when it’s time
The creepers untangle themselves from my fence and inch away when Spring is done

But Grief?

It sits in a quiet corner of my room, looking for an excuse to stay

It knows about my locked rooms and bolted chests
It knows about the frames on the walls and the people inside them
It remembers all the cups in my cabinet and hangs the ones I like at the front
It understands the questionable company I keep, or where I drive my car to on a lonely Saturday

Grief — it knows too much of me

Yet, it sits in my chair — humming the broken music coming out of my radio — not wanting to leave

Grief, I let it be .

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