When her great grandmother's
son lit his family's homes ablaze,
she called her every day after.
Fear built inside with every ring
every ring, every ring. Until
her grandmother's voice calmed
her speeding heart. As she spoke
hello, she heard her own voice reverberate,
morphing with her grandmother's
and she wondered if the phone
was put in a jar to capture her voice
and store it for later. Much later,
as if she sees her granddaughter's
own death before her own.
And why wouldn't she? Why wouldn't she?
When she's lost so many lives already.
YOU ARE READING
Faces of Autonomy: A Poetry Collection
Poetry"The bones break, building upon one another-each vertebrae snapping, stacking, until my limbs reach the highest shelves." -From Chameleon. TW: Abuse, Grief, Loss, Violence. Poetry was never a genre I thought I would get into. I read very little po...
