if grief was 6' 6"

there is a kind of warrior who does not fight with words or weapons    
who stands naked in front of life    
knifeless    
wears the whips of the unkind    
as sand wears the cruelties of waves;    
endless readjustments       
ebb    
flow    
stay    
go       
   
this morning pulled over on the side of the road    
bereft    
to cry tears of anger    
for a child lost to the ugliness of diagnosis    
and death by a thousand kindnesses called cure    
then tears again for the days after    
when the burying was done    
and his mother rode to ruin    
on the back of a mother’s love    
slaughtered    
   
she; precious to me    
as earth    
   
and so I emptied grief on the rain-starved grass    
then straightened  
growled into the sunrise    
drove madness back to the edges    
where it belongs    
for now    
   
got back in my truck    
drove again    
pulled in through the work gate    
the men said “hey boss”    
and I nodded “boys”    
   
another round won    
by taking points    
against the ropes    
   
if grief was 6' 6"    
and weighed 240 pounds    
I’d be famous for this fight