Grief is a house.

Grief is a house.

Where the chairs have forgotten how to hold us, 

The mirrors how to reflect us, 

The walls how to contain us.

Grief is a house.

That disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell. 

A house that blows into the air at the slightest gust,

That buried itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping. 

Grief is a house.

Where no one can protect you,

Where the younger sister will grow older than the older one,

Where the doors no longer let you in or out. 

Grief is a house. 

  

Kelly Leigh Weber: 

1-15-79 -- 6-2-13