Grief must be taken from the barn
to the yellow grass in a burn of sun.
With grief, like a fish drawn up from the sea,
there’s only one way to turn it into nourishment.
It must be wrestled bodily out of darkness;
warm insides cleaned and cool skin salted;
placed in arrangements, good enough to eat.

Grief that’s always there like a fuzz of green
must be made single as fine leaves are thumbed.
As rose stems are docked for health this grief
must learn to suffer losing sections of itself.
Born, in soft shadow, as feathered as any hope,
this thing must turn its small bones from the nest.
It must brave a falling into light.

B. T. Joy is a British poet and short fiction writer living in Glasgow. He has also lived in London, Aberdeen and Heilongjiang, Northern China. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in magazines, journals, anthologies and podcasts worldwide, including poetry in Yuan Yang, The Meadow, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Numinous: Spiritual Poetry, Presence, paper wasp, bottle rockets, Mu, Frogpond and The Newtowner, among many others. His debut collection of poetry, Teaching Neruda, was released in 2015 by Popcorn Press and his 2016 collection Body of Poetry is also available through Amazon. He can be reached through his website: http://btj0005uk.wix.com/btjoypoet.

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