because you are dust too

And the quiet give of dead things between trees,

my shattered pieces, scattered glinting

Their shifting shadows

My bleeding feet.

The black roots that choke my breath

(why am I not good enough?

am dry and warm

My tired little heart beats, beats

Curled in straw, safe, snug

The basket of my ribs

Left open tonight

There is nowhere to be

And most painful moment

And I want to draw you triumphant like the sun’s first rays over the ridge

Yearn and grope for a touch gone cold

A past, mirage, dance before her eyes

Wide and laughing, babbling, spinning

Hair a flutter, this empty room

I wish our pieces fit better together. so close but facing your lonely back I'm always walking behind, your

And lost

A little sunlight on my bare edges

Raw

Find me laying still, still

Upon a whispering sea of grass they hush,

Across murky pools interspaced

By mud

My company of chirping

Bulbous frogs

Plop plop

Sticky air

We wiggle though tall reeds

A gator’s distant rumble

My hand empty

And the air is quiet

A quiet sigh

Long and soft

-ly slip across

Cool currents dips my fingertips

I reach for you - your frozen lids

Brush lightly bent and bony back

Your winters touch and starlit hands, soft

By horse

My edges crisp in the dry air and bright day

I want to flutter in the wind

I arrive creased and unembarrassed

Carry, carry

Of getting older

And not knowing when my lasts are coming

Of misunderstandings, and relationships

Her body stopped sustaining her consciousness

Mid May, the cicadas were preparing a chorus

Amidst a blooming season, floral notes suffuses

Sweet and crisp, late-spring’s spirits.

I still hear

My sister’s voice, though static, bereft

“What do you mean, grandma left?”

That darkened room and my solitude

To grieve amidst my sickness

I see you

In every bloom,

every colorful bird and beautiful painting

your quiet joy

I won’t say goodbye.

I know you’d be proud of me

For the life I made myself,

My clumsy writing and even the shitty art I make.

The pieces of you I hold is what makes me whole;

To I write in my soul “I love you”,

And: “I know you loved me too”.

For all I lost, there is none to blame.

I will say your name,

a whispered breeze

through leaves, the breath of sunlight

hush over scarred knees.

I’d like to dream: her scattered soul-

gentle warmth, a quiet tiptoe

upon my upturned face, oh chase

After grandma’s death, I feel permanently changed. I wonder if this is how getting older strips away pieces and pieces of your soul until you lose all your color and slather yourself in flame retardant until your whole world smells like the opposite of kerosine and there is no fire to make shadows so everything just becomes grey and then you die before your body really gives up.

of myself did I

leave behind?

To hold you, your

heart that was never

solely mine

Still air, no wind.

I lay torpid somewhere deep

under. The weight of ghosts press

here, where good intentions are laid to rest.

Their more convenient counterparts still

trod on dirt, tamping down

all this

My

Large hands sunk in brine

feels sour sour and a dab of spice.

I smell your loud and dour breath,

dust, stale air, rough and bare.

Wrap tight

with might my quiet regrets

Break me

make me