Draws: 30/April/20:
Moved from your home to this foreign place
The dust as thick as the memories ingrained in your body
Tall with chin high and noble with your proud loyalty
Knowing all you protected, knowing all the feelings of the pieces of material in your gut, the breath of hums around you and the whispers of water and the caress of close friends stroking your lining
Then your draws were stripped bare
Your shelves naked, the small pieces pulled gently away
Packed and gone
You can still taste the fibres once in your mouth, still hold the smudges of cups and fingerprints
The ground under your feet changed
From weak and smooth, breaking to weaker still yet soft, brittle
The new world smells differently and speaks differently
Ash and cinders, worn out fires, warmth that swells and falls like a heartbeat and new voices in the air
This world gives to your empty arms itself
Gives itself with hands so strange of touch on your heart and your ribs and your lungs until the palimpsest of fingerprints and the old fibres are eased away from your crevices
Gives itself in small pieces and new pieces unlike what you once harboured and cherished and clung to even as it all slipped through the creases of your chest
Until the old world is gone
You feel the absence as you are stroked and cradled in new things and blanketed with another's survival
You adjust
You live, your stomachache subsides and you pretend you never knew the old world or the feelings it left that quietly chew you like mites
You come to love what small things you are given and learn the ways of these new words, these louder beings and these new materials and caresses
You become content without a single tear
Then something from that old world, something you know is given to your draw
Something you once protected and now again can
Do you wrap around its familiarity gratefully?
With it do you swipe away the mites and scream in splintering wood into its old folds as it shares your pain and eases your tense shoulders and rubs your back well done
Do you recognise the dust on that small piece from that gone place?
Because it's the same dust that somewhere in your wrinkles and somewhere deep in your dark skin still lingers, dust that you still hug, hidden
YOU ARE READING
Am I 'Absolute'?
PoesíaMostly poems and art, some quotes and short stories. Not everything is an original of mine, so if it isn't I will state so on the page. 😊 Also: Helloooo! Oh my gosh! #1 in original poems!!
