1. "Grief" by Barbara Crooker
   is a river you wade in until you get to the other side.
   But I am here, stuck in the middle, water parting
   around my ankles, moving downstream
   over the flat rocks. I'm not able to lift a foot,
   move on. Instead, I'm going to stay here
   in the shallows with my sorrow, nurture it
   like a cranky baby, rock it in my arms.
   I don't want it to grow up, go to school, get married.
   It's mine. Yes, the October sunlight wraps me
   in its yellow shawl, and the air is sweet
   as a golden Tokay. On the other side,
   there are apples, grapes, walnuts,
   and the rocks are warm from the sun.
   But I'm going to stand here,
   growing colder, until every inch
   of my skin is numb. I can't cross over.
   Then you really will be gone.^[7]