My mother says she carries history’s weight
My darling Zoe, tucked under covers, Is crushed beneath that which came before When she coos, swooping with the wind, I hear that heaving of bygone years Strung within that bronze-black hair Tangled with that breath echoing from peach lips “Mother, I am months old and already ancient” And I laugh, my own breath rising until it Tumbles down as tears that fall on her cheeks More weight from above descending And that ageless question: How do I, Lilly, keep the pain from growing? Keep the pain from stabbing the ground, poisoning the roots, grasping the air And no answer falls upon my ears Instead, only a burdened silence remains Until it is broken by my daughter’s breathing
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI'm Darcy Ridge, creating stories that all revolve around family and identity in a myriad of ways. In the past, I have shared multiple stories and published a novella online. You can find me on Wattpad and many other social media websites. They/them [Image Description: black background with the words "Social Justice and Mental Health Resources" in white in the center /end ID]
Click image for a list of social justice and mental health resources. Archives
January 2024
Categories
All
|