There is something sore, achy that strikes suddenly.
In the midst of getting dinner,
an un-shuttered sadness seeps into deep veins.
Like a thrombosis sitting in the psyche, an emotional DVT.
The need to lie down persists.
Half cut cucumbers are put away.
In bed, warm covers are applied .
You try to sort which grief was triggered.
Was it the memory of the frail dying mother in the nursing home,
the deceased ex-husband gone nearly twenty years
or for the birds leaving the nest you tried so hard
to hold together with melded twigs and mud?
This something, this sadness consumes, hurts, aches,
and can be dissolved only by what the artists know –
paint on canvas, words on paper, a new melody made.
You will rise again.