The Shine Journal - The Light Left Behind

Journeys Through Grief and Beyond





This loneliness like an icicle in my eye




Melanie Browne



it drips, wet onto my soul-


leather shoes, it is not blood,


It cannot bleed me dry,


(anyway I hope it can't)


it won't melt completely,


and yet it never stops leaking,


at the store when I pay


for the tomatoes,


it drips on the floor,


when I go to a symphony


or even for a Sunday drive


I am forced to change my sweater,


waiting for the doctor


it splashes over an elderly ladies newspaper,


"excuse me" she says,and I move aside,


she wrinkles her nose and I see


I have soaked her obituaries,


The doctor says to


take it out of my eye


would be superfluous,


I look in the mirror,


at the loneliness like an


icicle in my eyes and I say


it over and over again,




I meet him at the zoo,


we are both dripping icicles


outside a flamingo fence,


his icicle is bigger,


he has some in his ears too,


poking through like earrings,


"I love the Flamingos," I say


bending my knees in an awkward way,


unconsciously imitating the pink birds


"I do too," he says,


they are so superfluous

Contact Editor: Pamela Tyree Griffin

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