Jul 19, 2021

Ah, there he is again, Grief with his

golden eyes gleaming in the dark,

those molten hellfire orbs.

He crawled in through the open window,

I guess, to sit upon a straight-backed chair

and watch me sleep.

Too late —

seeing him, I close my eyes, but he rises

from his seat, scuttling across the

floor on cloven feet, to poke

his gnarled gray finger in my eye.

It’s all he does, his only power now

that so much time has flaked away,

But oh —

the tears!




high school English teacher, cat nerd, owner of Grading with Crayon, and author of Biddleborn.