March

Her grief
was a thick rope of honey
that she held up high
and watched
in fascination
as it descended

the light prisming through it
how it thinned
and wavered
near the end

how it went on so long
when it seemed there must be nothing left
on the spoon
how it still came
and came

the viscous pile of it
on the plate
seeming so small
when compared to the
experience of watching it

the time it took
for it to all unfold.