Grief (Aurora), a poem

          Grief

There are no words, one

expects to say, but get

your family together,

pray and break bread.

When the neighbor dies

the same, keep your heart

open to include his relatives

and country. To spend time

mourning we would have

no other activity. This is

the koan--no other ripe

conclusion from the public

and private grief; yesterday

shooting of people

in the cinema in Aurora,

not the brilliant Borealis,

lights dazzling eyes,

but pops and zings from

the murderer's guns, and

today’s news, grandfather dead,

and you on a bus going back

to the city, everybody jostling

aboard with stories, griefs

and joys, you say that life

is shit, I agree, until

we roll out of the mud,

get up and wash our bodies

and calm our minds, remember

how he woke up in the morning

to take his tea, the stories

he told us of the deep country,

what we carry together

from him and Aurora, lights

snuffed out, burning temporarily

in this poem, our memory.

                Indran Amirthanayagam, July 24, 2012