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Conflated Grief: Poetry Affliction

It is not just grief for one person we feel.

It is loss of anything or many things or all things.

It is the absence of anyone.

It is the loss, the separation, the absence that can be, is, the stuff of every day, of every days.

My brother died, suddenly, at 63, but not just him that day. My father. My grandmother. My friend. My colleague.

His death was his and all of them.

Death where is your sting? Everywhere. Within us and around us.

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