Tonight There is No Room

Tonight there is no room for sorrow.
You scrape the bottom of yourself,
trying to drag your feet near his grave.
Prickled by the yellow grass beneath
your knees, how they bow their stems
to your lowering body as you kneel
in front of grandpa's stone.
Tonight there is no room for tears.
You suck back with deep breath
all your thoughts of death. How
they scream behind the window
of your kitchen sink as you wash
away the funeral plates used
for the coming of guests to dine
in the commemoration of afterlife.
Tonight there is no room for pain.
What you deemed severe was nothing
compared to the chasm left
in your wounded open.
Hoping one day he ascends
from coffin, through window
and portal which houses
your room for loss.