A Closeted Grief, Anonymous
A random algorithm
played one of your songs today.
I listed to it once,
three times before I stopped to ask myself why
we push on bruises to see if they still hurt
(even as the color fades,
the red of hemoglobin becomes anoxic,
to blues and yellows
before fragmenting into reabsorption)
never once remembering:
the urge to push
means we are still bruised.