grief is an awkward companion.
just when you think you finally
understand his bewildering ways

or are immune to his 
painful influence at last—
he pops right back up again
unexpected

he is the relationally clumsy 
uncle who concerns by 
never being able to predict
what he will or will not do
at the latest family wedding 

will he behave, will he hide

or will he dance the night away 
limbs akimbo, people staring?

will he offend his tablemates
completely unaware
while all he wants is to be who
he is, do whatever he needs to do 

to be accepted and allowed 
to breathe?

he does not need to be socially 
embraced to be legitimate,
and if he is not invited 
more often than not, 
he grows unpredictable indeed

—what might it look like if we
were just allowed to grieve? 

heather pound 2025

Photo by Vijendra Singh on Unsplash