stories we tell ourselves

The stories we tell ourselves 

Are not lies

But lifelines 

so we do not drown

in the grief of the moment 

for how else can we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

like after our lovebird flew away, 

when we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

it came to rest, it became well 

and it flew, how it flew 

it even came to say farewell 

before it flew right away 

so we did not lose it 

rather it wanted to be free 

or how when blood cells in my mother in law's brain burst

we told the story of how she herself had said she wanted to pass 

quick, without trouble to us, 

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

and when she was on breathing tubes for 5 days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can splinter the ball and chain 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood veins 

to its place deep inside 

the pulsating wall of the body 

ready to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

----

The stories we tell ourselves 

sustain us through grief