Grief at the Window

Kathy B. Austin

Grief stands at the window.
She is a little girl.
You don’t know her.
She does not look like you,
darker skin and hair,
perhaps Hispanic or Romanian,
a refugee from pain.
She has hidden herself
in your DNA for generations.
You have carried her
to school, to work, sat with her
watching TV.
Now she stares silently
out your bedroom window.
You watch her, amazed,
wanting to comfort her,
not knowing how,
and suddenly she is gone,
that is, you can’t see her,
but she will always be with you,
carried along carefully,
the child that she is,
within you.