MOURNING CLOTHES

MOURNING CLOTHES

Today was the first time I looked at my pain

from all the death —

so much death —

like it was an old outfit I kept in the closet.

I’ve had these Mourning Clothes for so long; they always fit close.

I tried it on, it didn’t fit the same.

I wondered if it was me or did the fabric change.

It hung loosely on my frame

as I moved this and that way

in front of the triggers I used as a mirror;

I suppose I lost some weight.

Perhaps it was all the water that escaped from my face.

It’s odd, cuz the tears always seemed to be replaced;

A reservoir sewn into the seams like lace;

these tears, my grief, the heaviness of rage.

My mourning clothes went from black into gray.

I wear grief differently now, they say;

My healing caused it to fade.

I remember not too long ago deciding to put these mourning clothes away.

I made a trade to lilacs, pinks, sky blues;

I wear yellows so bright you’d think I was a sun ray.

I wanted to wear new beginnings.

I needed to retire the pain.

I’d held onto these clothes like a baby blanket;

a reminder that my peace wasn’t safe.

Ah shit, let me try them on again:

My mistake, it’s me who’s grown too big.

I’m glad they no longer fit.

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