Trampoline

I learned about grief today.
It was more visceral than I realized.
More lasting than I had conceived.
I wanted to get away.

But I have sons, and responsibilities.
I wanted nothing more than to jump on my trampoline,
Violently, repetitively, angrily.
But instead I held my son.

In the end, we jumped together,
The baby curled up against my body.
Silent, his body tensed with each landing.
Too unkind. I fed him. He fell asleep.

And then I jumped, violently, angrily, repetitively.
I threw myself on my back
And saw my feet against the sky.
And ended up on my feet,

Unhurt.

Life is not a trampoline.