break the seal at the kitchen table. tip the contents into a clean cup. add water just below the boil; do not stir. wait until the steam touches the underside of your jaw, then drink in three small sips with a pause between. the grief does not go; it sits beside you instead. that is the cure.
ingredients
- one dried lemon rind, halved
- a single repeated word, said aloud
- the warmth of a held cup
- a thin slice of bread, no butter
- the name of the loss, written and not sent
small griefs are not small. the packet treats only the unbearable part — what remains is a memory one can hold without dropping.
for larger sorrows, see the larger packet; for the night-hour after, the vigil, the window, and the kitchen.