Roots thick as blood
Tied to the vows of the womb we shared
A woman’s bond coiled in cold intentions.
Suffocate a moon-time flow of a new direction.
Heartbeat in the background Tells us of the time we do not have.
Regressed by a memory.
Drowned by a dream.
Is my psyche playing tricks on me?
Blood and memory –
The foundation of the altercation.
You. My legacy’s contention.
I want to kiss all your scars until they heal with memories of me tightly woven in.
Fickle fears on your ear drum
Reappear with the shore
Unmistakably echoing in your head
From the last time you placed the shell
On your temple
And begged to be answered.
You are the leaves
of a tree that
And I am the wind –
I take pieces of
wherever I go.
Iron down the road of time
For a drive that no longer rides
Stranded on a busy street
Tiptoe on the gutter’s brink.
Balanced on the bittersweet
breeze of memory.
I heard your key press into the lock. It seemed a lifetime as the metal scaled and scraped the walls of the labyrinth for the end. A twist in the right direction and the cold clunk of the bolt as it breathed its release. Chills creep up my skin as you maneuver and manipulate our rugged old handle; too kinked from the cold this time of year. Chills. Wind sweeps in through the break of two worlds. My stare seems to lift you as my eyes drift from your soles to your soul. You smell the stiffness in the air and run to hold me. Do not leave, your body aches as it squeezes mine. Do not run away. But I stare at the key, stuck, but still swinging on the open door.