Grief

---

"Make me a man."

and I meant it

when I said it

to God.

It seemed to me

that if I were not a woman,

were not a mother,

were not female flesh,

I would not hurt.

It seemed to me

that the men around me

didn't cry,

didn't pause,

and went back to work

as usual...

mere days after my child

left for heaven.

They ate their meals,

walked the dog,

mowed the lawn

as usual.

But me...

I couldn't eat.

I couldn't sleep.

I could not

stop the storm

and all it's rain and winds and floods and devastation and it kept raging for days and weeks and months on end.

And one day I looked at the man

I loved the most

and knew the best

(he had paused from his many labors,
and his face was shaded in thought)

and I wished so badly that I was him instead of me.

I hated being a woman,

a mother,

female flesh,

because the curse of my sorrow was too terrible to bear.

But that one time I looked at the man
I loved the most
and knew the best,

the thought came to me,
and the thought was...

"Sometimes

he

wishes

he

could

be

you."

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