How do you talk about a sunset, without sounding like every conversation about sunsets?
At the market, the checker she says, The sunset is beautiful—I love that I can watch it from this window.
I say, Oh yes, the colors are stunning. Those pinks, those yellows.
Then, when I get home, my mother-in-law, she says, Did you see the sunset?
I say, Oh yes, the colors are incredible. So bright.
Words replaced but constant in their meaning.
How do you talk about a sunset? How do you talk about anything, really?
About a caged bird who sings of freedom—
Clipped wings that do not dip into a sunset or a sky.
Everyone asks how we are, but everyone is doing terribly—
How do you talk about grief?
Lovely and lonely and lyrical,
Grief rolls me about inside her mouth like a small pebble
Teaching me to be quiet…
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