Some Days It Is Too Much

Sometimes, it is too much.
Why is that I didn’t cry
when my parents were lowered into the ground,
but the smallest thing, now, makes me weep?
Why is it, when I close my eyes,
I am urged forward, drawn
to another place?
I am worried where that place might be.
There is floating, then a sense of being lifted.
Forward.
To a new place.
The only way out is force of will.
Some mornings,
I want only to cry –
Until it is all gone.
All the stuff I can’t explain.
The stuff that sits on your soul.
Moulders.
Then it rises up- anxiety, loss.
Through your heart.
Your eyes.