Renee Writes

Sometimes there is a strange and
welcome sensation
that muffles my sorrow
like a plump fuzzy pillow
over sharp uneven ground.

I think “She is dead; she is gone.”

But my heart does not understand those words.
It’s like another language from a strange, far-off land
or the silly ramblings of a toddler.
I listen to the sounds but they don’t make sense.
Those words are gibberish to my heart.

I sense the words are serious, something heavy,
but I can’t comprehend them,
I lean in a bit to hear better but no,
my brain does not know what those sounds mean.

I shrug, oh well,
And go on my merry way.