Ugly
I'm told to write of happiness
to instill the hope of survival
from the loss of a child.
They want the sticky-sweetness
of the other books written on
death and grieving.
Like eating cinnamon rolls,
the other books
of hope and inspiration
leave me feeling satisfied -
but only for a moment.
The other books
sit in my stomach
like a big plate of greasy bacon.
I can't do it.
Grief is not a pretty thing.
.
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