I know I have to rise from the small low chair
whose seat bears my grief print
Seven days of sitting with all that quickened love
sickness
Still so opened; still the quivering shell
of darkness
That I ever shrugged, jaded at a distant killing
Gentleness will be harder than every
out-of-body emotion
Walk me back slowly; I want to sing praise
Walk me around the block, sing me slowly
This poem is beautiful and poignant and reminds me of my own times of getting up from shiva. May you be comforted.