Baklava

Like so many layers of phyllo dough
my grief compounds itself
each time
my life touches death.

My grandfather's passing crushed me at five,
then a friend at thirteen took the joy out of life.
My mother, too young, muffled the world's buzz,
cocooning me in strife.

Each death weighs on me like
stones on a grave.

Each wave of grief
crushes me.

Daring me to be brave.

I want life how it used to be.
I want to be saved.
I'm exercising futility-
I know there's no escape.