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Literature
Things they don't tell you.
Things they don’t tell you about losing your grandfather on a Tuesday night:
When you wake the next morning, you still
need to get out of bed in time for work, you still
have to shower, dress yourself, eat breakfast, brush
your teeth and hair;
and when your mother calls
to check in, you have to comfort her because she lost
her dad last night;
and when you call your grandmother
your voice cannot waver lest you upset her, because
she lost a man she's known for seventy years and even
though she would never hold it against you, you still
feel obligated not to cry;
Literature
and even so, you stayed
I taste rain on your lips
and I know you’ve been
writing poetry again.
I breathe into the touch
of your fingers
cascading in a soft scale
down the cage of bones
around my heartbeat.
you kiss me
knowing
the colors that drift
in my mind
like water beneath
all the bridges that were
burned for me
and you stay.
Literature
Honeystars
A budding morrow
rests and breathes
in the specks
of dusk
between your lashes.
Honeystars
they shine
within an earthly heaven,
sweet
safe promise
of warmth.
Like a chestnut leaf
placed
through the pages
of my restless story
you keep dreams
bright
and still.
Living proof
that firefly flames
can give rise
to an eternal
summer day,
you are
the laugh of the forest
after rain.
In your gaze:
ground castle
on the edge
of the world,
is the dark
made small.
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23 Feb 17
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Comments2
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this reminds me of something recent and personal.