Grief by Louise Erdrich

Will it ever end, this heavy, cold, lonely emptiness & sadness...

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Grief

By Louise Erdrich

Sometimes you have to take your own hand

as though you were a lost child

and bring yourself stumbling

home over twisted ice.

Whiteness drifts over your house.

A page of warm light

falls steady from the open door.

Here is your bed, folded open.

Lie down, lie down, let the blue snow cover you.