Prolonged Grief Disorder
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
If they ask: I sweat my history like my faith, cloaked saints in strange forms they cross, they rood, they clay their pots across forever — (They are always naming these boats of kin). There is so much God And I am so tired. I breathe in so many hollowed (or is it hallowed?) places Trees, minarets, hoods of saints, the abdomen of the moth, Saint Louis, Missouri, and its big canoes And I am so tired. And after the vaccine, my arms were so tired. And when our daughter cries, I will be so tired. There are so many histories, so many strange forms I fill in the night. And if they ask: in your arms, I can be so tired and still fed by the anointing: your humpbacked song, your body of the veil, the moths, the worms, and the left breast, swollen, resting, and feeding, still:
“Prolonged Grief Disorder” was initially acquired by Rogue Agent Journal and appears in Wordgathering with permission. See more at rogueagentjournal.com.
About the Author
Mitali Khanna Sharma (she/her) is a Punjabi-American interdisciplinary writer, artist, editor, and agroecologist. You can explore more of her work at mitalikhannasharma.com. Find her somewhere in the Midwest. Or on Instagram: @mitalikhannasharma.