Plate

 Grief walked around during day time in the sliver of a popped up vein on the forehead, and she carried it around like a child with a medal for something she didn't understand. She knew, she understood it marked her now. From the moment she sensed loss, it marked her the way snails leave trails on hard black granite. There one minute, disappearing the next to sight, but you know they're there.  It was at night she most felt them. From inside, they'd creep through her body and open her eyes wide open, as she remembered where she was and what was happening.  To be as powerless, to change what can only be, what can only happen in each person's pursuit for happiness, joy, love and laughter... And while this is true of everyone, grief turned inside of her like hot coals in a slow oven. It burnt, pained and hurt her to see that everything can indeed change at the speed of a light switch turning on. Even the most precious of apples, sowed and reaped rot when they've outlas