Nesting for Grief

Sally Sandler

With leaves and moss, and small bits of earth,
with lichen, feathers, grass and fragile things,
the bird lines its nest, and then it sings.
Nesting usually happens before birth.

When loved ones travel death’s corridor,
I, too, am bent on structuring things, like
the hardware drawer--the screws and nails and strings—
frantic in my need to create order

before the birth of grieving in my heart.
While grouping nuts and bolts and bits of twine,
I try to purge my household (read: my mind)
of clutter. I need space when grieving starts.

Somewhere in my soul this brings relief--
staying busy while I nest for grief.