Grief (Re-Write #2)

Grief
(for Tim Hopkins)

We are built for loss, whether we know it or not,
we humans. Our memory is what God gave us
when He was not in a truly giving mood. 

Loss of innocence was a bite of real fruit. We cannot be hungry 
without it being a sin. Loss of the womb is called natural birth, 
and every mother & child can tell you the pain of creation is real. Loss 
of a child's imagination is called learning to live in the Real World, 
is called Oh grow up, will you?  

We talk all the time, but how little of that is Real Talk? 
Giving up being a nomad means pretending you own 
some piece of the world, and we call that real estate. 
Our ages are measured in real numbers. Life expectancy 

is a real concern when you live in Real Time. Praise authenticity 
when we say Keep it Real, but why is it we only say that
when we say Goodbye? People die. And the world continues
to just spin, like the people we lose are no longer real.

The real axis is where real numbers add up, but even
knowing that doesn't matter Our hearts are in real pain
our grief is never gifted a set of merciful linear stages,
but rather, a design in real time, and yet all everyone tells us
is to get real, get over it, and get one with our lives? Unreal..

We get it, World, we get it--
we read the real signs in every death, 

every cold October, every year:
every loss is real. 

Every loss is real. 

Every loss is real.