The Wall

People keep saying I am doing great like they cannot see the ash on me. I still reach for my phone before I remember there is no one to send the stupid little update to. The kids ask normal questions in voices that make my ribs hurt. I can keep the bills paid or I can breathe deeply, but not both on the same day. Her coat is still where she left it because moving it feels like agreeing with reality. Sometimes grief looks like school pickup and pretending my face is not breaking in public. I am angry at every healthy person talking to me about efficiency. There are days I am functioning so well it feels like betrayal.