When You Ask Me to Describe the Grief

 (after Clementine von Radics)

I open my mouth
& nothing comes out—I think,
chest caving in, robber
of breath, thunderbolted knees
hitting the bathroom floor
but it felt more like
tumbling down a staircase
into the basement of a heart
that no longer relays rhythm,
my shoveled out stomach—
a hearse, a grave, a place
for it to rain memory,
to flood, to send your body out
to river, to ocean,
to sky.

Amanda OaksAmanda Oaks is the founding editor of Words Dance Publishing. Her works have appeared in numerous online & print publications, including Stirring, Dressing Room Poetry Journal, Glamour, Elle, Parenting, & Artful Blogging. She is the author of two poetry collections: Hurricane Mouth (NightBallet Press, 2014) & her co-authored split book, I Eat Crow (Words Dance, 2014). She likes poems that bloody her mouth just to kiss it clean. Connect with her @ http://amandaoaks.com