Little Griefs

The hamster buried in the back garden in a perfume box from Miller Harris. A fall of jasmine. Or leaving Paris. The ingenue and what once she starred in. How the truth bears down if you eschew it, paying grave visitations nightly. Or how the small child who hugged you tightly now claims her own world and stretches to it. These things, and more, make up each little grief. How you would spare her even just one tear! No need to reason, or profess belief, to know these moments don't disappear, but like angels dancing, on their pin, the little griefs grow great. Then grow again.