Mother's Grief

How I feel with my grief. Greif sucks. Never ending, always hurting.

She carries it in the way she stands,
a tilt in her spine
where the world pressed too hard.

No one sees it at first—
the small collapse behind her eyes,
the way her breath falters
when a memory brushes past.

Mother’s grief
isn’t loud.
It’s the silence she swallows
so the room won’t break with her.

It’s the way she folds a blanket
as if tiny hands still reach for it.
It’s the way she pauses
before turning off a light.

It’s the ache that lives
in the shape of her body now,
a hollow carved by love
that had nowhere else to go.

She smiles,
because that’s what the world asks of her,
but the smile never reaches
the place that’s missing.

And in the quiet,
when no one is watching,
she touches the air
like she’s trying to hold
what isn’t there anymore.