There is no time and place for grief,
until there is.

When notes of a song take you
back to laughing in the hallway between classes,

when wafts of lilacs on the breeze across the yard
conjure Mamaw’s arms wrapped around you,

when you take a bite of a hot buttered biscuit
and you remember breakfasts holding hands,

when you close your eyes just a second and
all you see are their eyes looking back.

And you never know
when those memories may come at you like a coal truck

hauling around the curved roads back home
just close enough to rock your day,

or when they may hit you head on
penning you down with sorrow as fresh as plowed dirt.