The Topography of Grief The topography of grief is karst, riddled with sinkholes that suddenly open under your feet, swallow you whole. I don’t know what I expected to feel. Not this emptiness. Not nothing. I don’t cry at the sight of my dad’s signature. The letter from probate court I’ve been expecting. I know what it contains: a form letter and a copy of dad’s will. I cry when I pack his chessboard, lay the wooden pieces to rest in their velvet-lined compartments, close the box, latch the lid.
About the Author: Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T and hikes the Ozarks. She is the author of Porous Land, The Eden of Perhaps, and A Coracle for Dreams, all published by Spartan Press. Most recently, she has been collaborating with eight other poets on the book Wild Muse: Ozarks Nature Poetry (Cornerpost Press, 2022.) Her poems have appeared in a variety of magazines; you can read some of them on her website agnesvojta.com.
.
Image Credit: Chase Dimock “Utah Karst” (2021)
As It Ought To Be 