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.