The Rumble Takes Years

What is grief but
a trickle of wet silvering
shadow down the spine
of my entity,
non-erasing,
no matter
how far
I’ve come.

A tear drop started it all
some years ago, when
love brought out all the
shadows hidden away,
buried beneath packed
earth in a coffin.

I had to pry open
the very jaw of that
coffin, one after another,
the ghosts flew, above me
and hovering so close,
I could feel their deadening
breath.

The cold, the ominous, the chills
from fear that turned life
into hell.

I sat, motionless, as
the ghosts ravaged my being.

I tried again, again,
and then again to unleash
the light that would banish
them away.

So, every day, I showed up.

One, two, three, four, until
the seven hundredth day.

Then I did
it again, one, two, three, four,
until the one thousandth
day has passed, when my fingers
bled and my eyes could no
longer see.

Then I repeated,
one, two, three, four,
another thousandth day,
until my heart couldn’t feel
and I walked the zombie’s path.

I kneeled down, resigning and
surrendering my fate.

Then, on no particular day, just when
I think all was lost,
I felt magically, for a moment that
all of this darkness will end.

I hoped, chanted the rhythm
of love that I fought for,
over and over.

The ghosts began giving up
their flight.
They saw me cry and
told me they wanted to help.

I watched them fly home.

Just like that, the rumble
ended as it began,
with a sliver of shadow
down my spine.

But this time, the
shadow’s gone and
I come alive.

With light in my eyes
my palms cusp the
bottom of my soul,
I whisper,
“Thank you.”