in case you didn't get enough.

Eve, or september 12th.

i know it's a shame,
the proportion of the pain,
but there's one thing i can do
on this day that has both name
and gain.

i can take this bitten body
warm between my two palms,
and cleaning house from top to bottom,
give her balm.

what's one more mourner or less
on this day of second deaths,
and what has my grief got to do
with the towers and the rest?
i have not lost a soul,
just the trust of this small thing
warm and shaking, claw and purring
from the pain -
not from the trains
or the rains
or the memories of mayhem one september -

this twelfth, all i see
is the calm misery
pouring out of these two animal eyes
as she twitches and whines
with hives and parasites
between my palms.

good grief knows when to weep
over one thing at a time.