You were my stomping ground, regrouping
takes time. This is the essence of eldership.
I can intellectualize grief. Earlier on I would
weep and wail some more. Lamenting sans
lachrymatory spectacle is an age leg up.
Some things just dry up.
It isn’t easy to receive others
in registers other than
their ab initio downloads
onto our domes.
Noticing their gestalt
isn’t a natural impulse.
It has to be goaded.
Peeps are unlike arpeggios.
Like drawers in a sideboard
they split themselves in shelves.
Chasing their bliss folks
choose melded frontages
like fugues. In acceptance
we can clean our corners.
Mine is solitariness. Yours is fanning
a weighty contributor to your kitty.
The line of demarcation is delineated.
There is no confrontation. Alternate
day our telecon lasts for ten minutes.
Everything I say is right as rain. I only
hear *bilkul theek.
Stowed you in a ship without the stevedores knowledge.
Instead of beseeching God to overslaugh your station
conjure to be cared for in the slot you’re in. Grief isn’t
about scope or scale but skills as a surmounter. Gnat’s
bite is unbearable for a few, for others snakes are slight.
SANJEEV SETHI is the author of three well-received books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015). His poems are in venues around the world includingThe London Magazine, The Fortnightly Review, Ink Sweat and Tears, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Novelmasters, Zarf Poetry, The Galway Review, Easy Street, W.I.S.H. Press, Degenerate Literature, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, Darkrun Review, Spirit Fire Review, Zoomoozophone Review, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.