Grief

They brought in the corpse, late that night.
She stood there, grabbing on to the wall.
Her something solid lay on the ground.
Unmoving and rigid, but rotten and fleshy.

They all came buzzing in, muttered
Condolences to her ears, took her little face
And cringed at the dryness of the eyes.
They all howled, told the housemaid
They would need more drinks, their eyes
Tired from all the weeping, grief was
Such a sordid chore. She quickly got up-
And with the baying crowd in tow,
She slowly poured water into glasses.
Sending the first tray out, she slowly
Measured spoonfuls of sugar in the next
And pinches of salt, added water, stirred
Heard the silent chime of the spoon until
Not a single crystal remained. She went out.
They hissed, venomous whispers and tacit nods
Until the vulture among them, took flight
To bring her back into the procession
She had eyes only for him. He was nowhere.

And like a burrowing earthworm groping in
The dark, she tiptoed uninvited into his room.
He sat there, facing the mirror, facing the only
Truth he had known- himself. They were liars.

She sat beside him.
He turned around.
"Is it Ma?"

And suddenly the throng stopped that night
For the Gods had answered their prayers.
The children were finally grieving.

He cried for the truth.
She cried, for him.