I don’t cry at funerals
The despair clogs
in my head
like mud.
I want to crumble
but instead
I stand.
I resort to words,
clumsy and sharp,
the same small sack of words everyone uses
because there is nothing right to say.
I long for the language of tears,
a sinking face that says
you have too much ache
let me take some
I feel it too
you are not alone.
But it is as though I am wearing
an emotional life-jacket.
I cannot seem to drown.
I look quiet
but inside I am thrashing.
So please know
that some of us cry backwards,
our insides
soaked
with grief.