Boo Hoo

Once I started crying,
I didn't stop. A sizzling
lahar of salt tears poured
out. Buildings of my
interior life fell over.
Hurricanes and typhoons
raked shaky coasts
where grief had lived
in mansions.

Geysers of weeping
spewed, and a billion
drums pounded iron
roofs with rain. All

my brilliant boats went
belly up or bow down.
In the end I stood like a stone
statue in a swamp
and wondered what another
day might bring or take.

Tactically, I'll revisit
stoicism and make my way
back to a dry plateau
where dead brush hisses
in hot wind. Home at last.



hans ostrom 2019