Tight Spaces

Why does it feel so beautiful?

In tight corners of 
hushed hallways,
I hug strangers,
invading their personal space
and taking on their smell.
I say awkward things, 
And utter stuttering prayers.

In tight rooms I hold hands
And pass tissues.
Family members who want to wail,
Wring their hands instead.
Stubborn tears fall down their 
Cheeks like burning coals, 
And their low moans echo off the windows. 

I breathe tight air, 
As if it has captured the tension
Of a life slipping away—
The soul wanting release,
The family wanting to hang on.
Grief pings around the room
Unable to find rest. 

My heart feels tight,
As I move on.
I try to navigate it through 
The loss I’ve witnessed—
Both Incredibly sad
and dense with beauty.
Why does it feel so beautiful?