After

It’s the after that scares me the most.

After you go, how will I go?

How will I take those first heavy steps down the hall away from you?

Where will I go?

After I get there, what will I do? Where will I sit in the room? What will I say? After I say it, how will I feel?

After friends leave and I’m alone with my thoughts, what will I think?

Will sadness swallow me up or will rage bubble inside me?

After I crumble, will I be able to get up? After I stand, how will I stay up?

After I look at your pictures, what is there to do next?

A hot bath, a warm cup of tea. Gentle reprieves. But then after those, what?

I somehow keep surviving each moment; my own stubborn heart still beating against my will.

But I’m always afraid of the next moment, of what happens after I get through this one.

After I lay down, finally so exhausted by the grief, how will I sleep? And if I do, what happens after I wake up? After I peel myself up out of bed, How do I do it all again?

After I accidentally catch a view of my own reflection in the mirror, the heavy bags under my eyes, still swollen belly, breasts still leaking milk, after I look at her in the mirror, what do I tell her?

written on 1/2/21