Fine on Tuesday, flattened on Wednesday

Almost everybody grieving says a version of this. That it comes and goes without warning. That they can be steady for four days and then be taken apart by a smell in a corridor.

People find this more frightening than the sadness, because it feels like there is no ground. If you were sad all the time you could at least call it a state. This is not a state. It arrives.

There is a shape underneath it, and it is not a staircase. It is a crossing back and forth.