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    • Oct 30, 2020
    • 1 min read

​Grief

By Nora Diday.


We sit on thin wooden chairs

facing a crucifix.

The song echoing through the hall

smells like loss to the four of us,

reminding us of the last time we were here.

She grips my hand tightly in her lap

while singing “Be not afraid.”

Her voice breaks,

but she continues singing,

holding high her quivering chin.

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