will I too, feign surprise at calls, as if we hadn’t talked forever,
when it was
only yesterday we spoke, maybe I won't remember
will I lose
my heart to bitterness
oh you
I want to
pick up threads and dropped stitches
keep making
myself
weave a nest in
my chest
future portrait
I imagine you with every death, that I might attain you,
scar and
crackle, whisper of charcoal willow on paper
bundle of
sticks and string
some things
improve some get worse
I only fear
pain or not knowing how to bear it
not learning
how to
What a poem! How amazing! Crackling with imagery and pain...
ReplyDeleteagreed
ReplyDeleteThat's very fine, Sarah. So much love. And hope. And dreams. We're all on the same page there.
ReplyDelete