On Grieving

Give Sorrow meat commensurate to all

the grace allowed by hospitality.

Her plate with Maror garnish liberally,

lest she devour your coffers in her gall.

And dance with her; one turn around the floor

to minor key and awkward step. Forfend

that she should name the song; hers does not end

ere tears are spent and hearts left mean and poor.

Pour her a measured glass of heady wine.

Come! Toast her misbegotten dreams and health!

I’ll buy the bottle, drink the rest myself;

Her visitation’s bill, in part, make mine.

Tomorrow let her speed her noisome way.

Content may have her room and, welcome, stay.

~

12.18.18

Written on the occasion of a pair of deaths close to friends.