There is a wax sea horse in our brains
Like a candle it may diminish with time’s
Soft ravage
There is a butterfly in our throat
Like a season it may bloom and then dessicate
I think of love and the violet flowers I gathered and pressed
When I turn the page seeing them flat and leached of color
It feels like the past, whispering from a distance
My mother held a moth to light until it singed
My father held his head in water till he spoke the language of waves
I carry their genes and something that is me
Whirling like veins through marble, static stone clawing paths
For legions rove while we wake and sleep
The in-between, a sweet spot
Those precious years of reprieve
I laid in your warm arms thinking; just a little bit more
I touched your casket before the earth devoured years
Years were spindles in locked rooms without door
No longer embraced or full, I stripped off my sticky sorrow
And took the boat out past safety line, where water is mirror still
Diving beneath memories, my father’s dry hands
My mother’s beautiful eyes, I held my breath
An opening and closing of pain, breathing liquid air
Life turned to pain, pain became life
Once again.
North and South, positive and negative, the magnet’s poles – a respite between?
Superb imagery lifting a sad poem