Grief is a Labyrinth
It’s ok to be happy, I think,
and savor the memory of bright days
the blue of the sky melting into the blue
of the ocean, the way you held it in your
eyes like a mirror.
Most days I’m fine, even in the dark.
There’s a kind of comfort in the worn walls,
and cool air, the feel of the thread
in my hands. I can’t see where it leads, but
there must be an end.
I have wound this line, and
unspooled this story so many times
around and around my fingers.
But sometimes it still cuts sharp as a knife.
The sun is warm on my back, steady as a mast
and I see white sails break the horizon.
I know the monster is dead,
but its bones live in my heart.
Alice is a Taiwanese-American poet whose work has appeared in Strange Horizons and Liminality, among others. She loves magic, myth, and bright lipstick. She is learning there are all kinds of faces to grief. You can find her online writing about geek fashion for Sartorial Geek, at Girl On The Roam (girlontheroam.wordpress.com), or on Twitter @kangaru, chatting about books and superheroes.