I didn’t think it would turn out like this. No one ever does. I thought my year would be one of graceful longing, flowing skirts and velvet blacks.
In reality, mourning is fits and starts, twisted up feelings with gnarled claws and sighs.
Anger written but never expressed. The deadliest catch.Not clearly understood and lashing out at the most difficult of times.
Always unexpected, in a “not today”, kind of time. Weary and complex, muddled and messy, prone to being humid and heavy, wet and wild.
No velvet, just fog, with a cool wind behind. The times, they are a’ changing, hardly meek and mild.