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| Odilon Redon, Spring, circa 1910 |
Last night,
grief held my body
in deep soreness
underneath my roughened, toughened skin.
I lay awake, fearing to cry out
and uncork the bottle of my sorrows,
fearing the sound would
resemble new violin students
playing wretchedly and mercilessly,
and for too long.
Instead,
I listened for the birds,
like the chatter of children,
their rich, shattering joy
breaking silence with song.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
dVerse oln
