And when I return home
to that soothing dark,
fists unfurled, eyes closed,
I will become the mother
my own mother wished
me to be;
in death,
I will raise your laugh,
watch it push through the soil at my throat
to dance in the rain, in the wind, in ghosthood
until even the insects are haunted by the children
we used to be.
As in life,
you will blossom in the decay,
and the angels will hear your name
whispered among the faun and wonder
about the boy who bloomed in spite of
a woman's rottenness.
When I can no longer hold a pen to paper,
I will do what I have always done:
keep us alive, when we are not.
I'll keep you alive.
[ it is not so scary / to think of the end / when I remember all the ways you will begin again / I see you in everything / they tried to rip your name from my throat / from my life / it is not so scary to think of the end / when I know they will be proved wrong ]
YOU ARE READING
HEAVENLY CORRUPTION
PuisiThe ramblings of a woman who spent too much time in confession and too little time trying to figure out what exactly she was apologizing for.
