The Pause
“That’s an odd spot for wool gathering”
He says
as I stand in front of the mini fridge we use for drinks
I’ve been standing there
for some uncounted measure of minutes.
Wishing not to be grieving.
I’m tired of sadness
and minefields of emotion
and the careful ways we all move to take care of each other.
I miss when motion and loving was simple.
I want to go back
We all do
and we can’t.
I’m stopped because forward is through grief.
If I pause long enough
gather enough wool
maybe I’ll find myself able
to open the fridge.