Johanna Shapiro, PhD

When my grandmother died
My mother’s grief knew no bounds
It raged and roiled
An angry current
Overrunning its banks
Spilling inarticulate and destructive
From bedroom to living-room
A soggy flood of feeling
Knocking over tables and chairs
The way my grandmother did
When she was drunk
Each one of my mother’s tears
Perfectly transparent
Like a drop of the vodka
My grandmother drank neaty
Straight from the bottle
She hid in the chandelier

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