Crashing
To fling oneself angrily
onto something
like waves crashing
on stones
seemingly
immovable, stoic.
And yet in time
disarrayed, moved,
chipped
away.
Breathe, Grief
My mother She kept everything: Notes handwritten on various paper pads Broken cups, worn-out pillows, Old handbags, cracked plates Love letters, greeting cards Curtains made of lace And here I was vacating, creating space One by one, garbage bags piled up "You need space to breathe," I told her She nodded, wordless, unmoving Her limbs weakened by the stroke she suffered just a week ago Her eyes watered in quiet protest Nine years later, And four years since she passed I understand now This longing to keep things To hold objects, to grasp As it reaffirms one's life, that one became real that one truly lived Now I want to take it all back, the things I discarded to make space for her to supposedly breathe: Notes handwritten on various paper pads Broken cups, worn-out pillows, Old handbags, cracked plates Love letters, greeting cards Curtains made of lace I want to cram the space with everything she kept Leave no space for air So, I can...
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