Living Grief

September 23, 2025
How
am I
supposed
to do
this?
Your rough hands
cup my shoulders
you hold me
a step away
then kiss me.
I know
every assault
working steel
made
to your body.
Pockmarks on
the top of your
hands
from scalds
of wet metal
Flesh under
your right forearm
puckered
by a slice of
sheet metal
Inner left thigh
a leathery map of
scar tissue
week-in-the-hospital
deep burn
Knees shot.
You loved
to run.
Now thoughts
run from you.
It wasn’t enough
working metal
beat your body
now steel robs me
of your mind.