today, i’ve read another poem on grief that
doesn’t roll the earth away from the grave
where the body of my loss last slept.
tomorrow, grief can be a random pain,
or frustration, like a hoe bent backwards,
ramming itself into a stone in another poem.
or a sickle’s tang sharpened to harvest the handlers
fingers. what i know of grief is the way it wrings around
necks/ a lover’s neck, a father’s neck, a mother’s neck,
or a sibling’s neck/ tightening itself like an auto-suicide noose.
Mathew Daniel (He/Him) is a Nigerian writer who enjoys reading poetry and fiction and has scribbled a few poems. He’s also a volunteer reviewer with Writers Space Africa Review team and WSA-Nigeria. His work has appeared in Shuzia, WSA Magazine, Konya Shamsrumi, Poetic Africa and elsewhere. He tweets @_MathewDaniel_ and can be found on Instagram @thismathew_
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