Grief Tourist

Stepping into unknown spaces,

Courting crumpled sheets,

Sporting effortless travelers' look,

Settling between a sleep and snooze,

Listening to every creak, footstep,

Every drunken conversation across the street,

Loyally responding to midnight mails and messages,

Playing with puddles to walk past time,

Tiptoeing to a road still unprepared for me to step into.

Back home, sleeping in a makeshift bed in an ex-gym setting,

Damp walls bragging his weight records,

White sheets, pillows, Ipad blasting away with unknown tracks,

Remind me that what makes me today is what makes me not--

Regular is the biggest exception,

Work is home, while home a play tent!

So, I visit places that host my losses:

New England and England both,

Calling them home to justify closures,

When in reality, all I am is just a grief tourist,

Seeking out cafes, roads, parks to seal my memories

Becoming a distant story teller with attempted detachment,

Ignoring torn todays and tragic tomorrows,

Rushing to the last page, adding a dash of fiction,

Changing the tone to a publishable ending,

Through words waiving discomfort,

Through poems becoming correction pens…

Risking unfair erasures.

Rubana Huq writes creatively and is also the Director of the Mohammadi Group.