If you immerse your feet in icy water
you forget grief for a moment. I did this once, my
brother-in-law made us cross a cold stream barefoot,
that winter, walking in the woods—I was emptied, then elated,
blissful; but didn’t try it again. Grief
returns vengeful after you’ve repulsed it.
— Alice Notley, from “II—The Person That You Were Will Be Replaced,” Mysteries of Small Houses: Poems. (Penguin Books; First Edition edition, June 1, 1998)