THIS TOO SHALL PASS by Kim Addonizio

was no consolation to the woman

whose husband was strung out on

     opioids.

Gone to a better place: useless and 

     suspect intel

for the couple at their daughter's 

     funeral

though there are better places to be

than a freezing church in February,

     standing

before a casket with a princess motif.

Some moments can't be eased

and it's no good offering cliches like 

     stale

meat to a tiger with a taste for human

     suffering.

When I hear the word miracle I want

     to throw up

on a platter of deviled eggs. Everything

     happens

for a reason: more good tidings

     someone will try

to trepan your skull to insert. When 

     fire

inhales your house, you don't care what

     the haiku says

about seeing the rising moon. You

     want

an avalanche to bury you. You want to

     lie down

under a slab of snow, dumb as a jarred

sideshow embryo. What a cirucs.

The tents dismantled, the train moving

     on,

always moving, starting slow and

     gaining speed, 

taking you where you never wanted to

     go.