Your sorrows must not
be shuffled off to dust over
in closets and drawers.
Pull them out.
Make the world know them.
Scrawl love letters to your wounds
on the sides of skyscrapers,
so the whole city must stare at them,
so the mayor and the aldermen
and the meter maids must stare at them.
Stamp your feet so hard the subways rattle,
scream so loud the windows rattle,
tear out so much of your hair
the birds in the park will never want
Grief yourself hollow
but make sure they remember why.