Dara Barnat
To escape the deaths strewn
about life, I packed my things
and moved to another country, learned
a new language, hid
in cafes, where I wouldn’t be
recognized in a crowd.
But grief slips
easily across borders, between
countries and languages.
There grief was, tapping me
on the shoulder, greeting me
in Hebrew, Shalom.
I could no longer
disguise myself or beg grief to stop
following me. I’ve started
speaking to grief in every
language possible. Sometimes
we end up laughing.