the currency of
grieving is in....

casseroles and soups,
left with notes,
on the back doorstep

flowers, bright, beautiful
and fragant,
delivered by gangling, teenage boys.

awkard silences and cups
of lukewarm tea.
mumbled condolences and
too tight hugs

late night rememberances,
after,
far too many drinks

tears, laughter and
in-house jokes...
photos, stories and 
space for quiet reflection.

these things are...
the dollars and cents
of  grief for a friend

but when all is, said
and done....

i would much prefer
to be penniless,
begging on the street,
with pockets empty
and moths for friends.