it comes to mind first,
one year in particular,
on a shop floor escalator -
bundles of red fabric
folded over our arms.
a red dress for boxing day,
twirled and bowed
oohs and aahs
back when I was the youngest
before I lost hope for confidence
and found it again
... after.
you've never seen me,
like this.
speaking and looking you in the eye
(I've never looked you in the eye).
you're still here but
in your room it goes quiet
from me
so you don't know
that I don't always cry
and I went to university
I'll probably never say goodbye
I wouldn't know when
the slowest death,
twice
I didn't realise till this poem
that what you rooted for
you'll never see
a girl that's bolder,
to some degree.
older, too
another grandchild
no longer so.
I think my time stopped too
I need my nan
no other way to say it
you can't hide
battling lost kinship
behind things that are implied.
YOU ARE READING
hope and half mangled poetry
Puisiˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹poems that ive been writing recently. ◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ 》hope, longing, nostalgia, change, identity, death. 《 blood bled pure: nostalgia is the muse and dredging is the art i hold lost people like trinkets, and parade them in my heart. the past...
