The Thing is, Ellen Bass

The Thing is  

Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even 

when you have no stomach for it 

and everything you've held dear 

crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, 

your throat filled with the silt of it. 

When grief sits with you, its tropical heat 

thickening the air, heavy as water 

more fit for gills than lungs; 

when grief weights you like your own flesh 

only more of it, an obesity of grief, 

you think, How can a body withstand this? 

Then you hold life like a face 

between your palms, a plain face, 

no charming smile, no violet eyes, 

and you say, yes, I will take you 

I will love you, again.

♡♡♡