notes on the solid

Trees are solid.
When driven into: close to certain fatality.
Chairs are solid.
Settle into the seat; some segments of spine aligned with chair back.
The floor is solid.
Feet walk across it, plant and uproot with ease.
The apple in my hand is a solid.
It surrenders to the crush of my teeth, it enters.
And it disappears into the solid body of me.

the consolation a poem gives

This one does the job exceptionally well: - one of Christina Rossetti's "Song" poems:

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet:
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.