Small Worlds

by Caleb Azumah Nelson

Grief never ends, but we find a way to walk in the light someone has left behind, rather than living in pain’s shadow.

I’ve taken to relistening, because, like the moments of our lives, it’s impossible to take everything in the first time.

meant to imply that God is everywhere, in all of us, in some way, in rhythm, in love.

how a croon can signal heartbreak or a yell can speak to our elation, or a groan might speak our grief.

either feeling immortal, or, knowing death and believing in this moment, it can’t touch her, knowing life and choosing to indulge.

He doesn’t know where God is or might be, doesn’t know how to pray or desire, only to grieve, to silently groan, to make himself a body, like water, a still surface, but beneath this, a ripple, and beneath this, an ebbing tide, and beneath that, a violent, constant tow. And that’s where he is right now: an ocean so wide he can’t see the beginning or end.