Let’s start with
the memory of
the first day in January of this year.
She said “I have a feeling
this year will be a hard one.”
How dare that psychic pisces say that…. Her predictions are never wrong.
Let’s start with
the fact that she was right.
This year has been hard -
knock the wind outta you kind of hard -
that space where you don’t know
if your breath will kick back in kind of hard.
Your breath -
that natural rhythm of lungs doing their job of keeping the tempo akin
to the breaths of waves.
What is an ocean without it’s lullaby
of in and out,
in and out?
How can seconds feel like years?
How can years feel like seconds?
In that forever moment
of a short circuit of
body
detaching
from brain
detaching
from being -
will life return?
Not just life,
but living?
Or has that last breath
been robbed from me
as I take my final bow to this world,
tunnel vision drapes it’s final curtains -
no encore
or standing ovation.
How can not one
but two lives
in this household
kiss the lips of death?
How can that grim reaper
flirt with this home
like a lover worth running towards?
How can we know
the scent of the river of styx?
Like a stench
you can’t get out of your nose -
like how smell brings you
right back to a memory,
or a nightmare,
or both.
Let’s not forget
the moments
that were miracles.
Let’s not forget
the seasons
that sunshine
kissed our skin.
Let’s not forget
that this year is
already passing.
Let’s not forget
that time heals,
That phantoms can fade to ghosts,
Ghosts can fade to feelings,
Feelings can flow freely.
Let’s not forget
that if life remains in my lungs
Let my ribcage be a garden
My heart be the waterfall
My body be the oasis
My being holding all of it
Knowing the unknown
Is nothing but a seed
Waiting to be planted
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