GRIEF WIT A SWITCHBLADE
Two-seventeen, fridge motor kicking.
Blue numbers on the microwave.
Faucet still dripping. Funny what a little thing can drag through a
doorway. Click.
Found an old receipt in the pocket of a black jacket Ink
rubbed thin—two coffees, tip circled,
date stamped it I was fine ten seconds prior,
sink running, half distracted Then my thumb brushed that paper and the
whole year snapped active Big losses make noise; little objects stay exact
Chipped mug, loose screw,
passenger seat leaned back Saved address in my phone like a route
I might retrace
Dumb little relics keep a fingerprint of place
I don't miss a movie scene,
I miss keys beside the toaster Cheap takeout getting cold while we
argued over coasters Half a sentence from the hallway,
sock beside the hamper Little nothing moments—now they land a whole lot
harder Grief stays folded,
cold metal nested in the handle One scent finds the stud; whole
mechanism gets dismantled One phrase,
one date, one smell—pressure finds the catch Click—twelve months spring-loaded in a
single flashback
Grief with a switchblade,
tucked in the seam No blood on the blade,
just holes in the scene Click—this room gone,
old room comes back One smell finds the stud and the whole
year snaps Grief with a switchblade,
folded up flat I never pull it—memory handles that One phrase,
one date, one scent hits the catch Click—whole damn past snaps back
Deleted the number, still know every digit
Changed every picture, some details stayed with it Moved lamps,
cleared drawers, switched sides of the mattress Still find pieces of then
in the dumbest little places It don't wait for anniversaries or ceremony
It gets me by detergent—fake lavender,
aisle three Cart wheel crooked,
freezer motor, somebody says,
“Excuse me” I nod like I'm still there while an old year
moves through me
I quit treating numbered stages like they came with instructions Mine skips
months, doubles back, shows up mid-conversation Some mornings I'm normal—hot coffee,
dishes rinsed Then a laugh from three aisles over makes the whole
room switch Now I know the pressure pattern right before the latch
moves Jaw tight, palm cold,
old details coming back smooth I don't chase them out the room,
don't invite them to stay
I let the blade open,
breathe once, fold it away
Grief with a switchblade,
tucked in the seam No blood on the blade,
just holes in the scene Click—this room gone,
old room comes back One smell finds the stud and the whole
year snaps Grief with a switchblade,
folded up flat I never pull it—memory handles that One phrase,
one date, one scent hits the catch Click—whole damn past snaps back
Nothing dramatic.
Just a smell on a sleeve.
That's the ugly part—
the object remembers for me.
Grief with a switchblade,
tucked in the seam No blood on the blade,
just holes in the scene Click—this room gone,
old room comes back One smell finds the stud and the whole
year snaps Grief with a switchblade,
folded up flat I never pull it—memory handles that One phrase,
one date, one scent hits the catch Click—
Let it open. Breathe once.
Fold it
back.