She hasn’t published the obituary, because
what will she say when they approach her
at the mall with their condolences that will
break her into dripping pieces? But if she doesn’t
will they ask how her mother is? Will she have
to break the news and shatter them with awkwardness
instead, then answer questions about why, when it was weeks ago?
Is she keeping death a secret,
to ponder in her heart? Many things are mysteries.
Grief makes some a blanket to hide in.
It makes others a sea to sail on.
She hides at home, and lives the obituary
in silent, private grief.