The Crucible

Correspondence

Grief by Michael Eubanks

The door closes like a

hammer blow. It seals me in,

like a tomb, air and life

drawn out with grim finality.

The room is too quiet. The silence

roars like thunder. It echoes

to my core, reverberates with the sound

of my own heartbeat. It shakes me.

This place is full of you, your presence

is everywhere, and so

is your absence. My emptiness

overflows. It stifles me.

I search for some distraction,

but it’s too late. I’m caught

in your gravity, the gaping

black hole that my hope can’t escape.