Amy Small-McKinney




Grief 

I walk from room
to room
as if
a pressing task
requires attention.
 
Then leave that room
for the next
and the next
to return to the first.
 
Nothing: any space I enter
 
Except old socks missing
their mates
and whatever I need to imagine.
 
I cannot do this alone.
Then his hand obscured—
nothing whole—