My grief is deceptive,

Quicksand that swallows you entirely

When you think the floor is steady beneath your feet.

My grief is treacherous,

A daylight attack from a neighboring fleet.

My grief burns

With tears and hot bile threatening to rise from cracked lips

Forcefully sealed.

My grief is unexpected,

A summer hurricane that sweeps my world under its feet.

My grief is mine,

Mine to bear, nurse, and greet.

Mine.

I grit the word between clenched teeth,

And I weep.

Fatima Zahra Serghini