Paper chains across the dining room,
crumbs beneath the table,
wine bottles, colored paper,
plates, forks, flowers bending,
taper candles inches shorter,
dearest father one year older,
photos taken to remember
what the eyes betray.
Through all our celebrating,
just a state or two away
my aunt was leaving—
the kind of leaving without packing,
the kind with inadequate goodbyes,
the leaving behind those who remain,
who must decide
what to do with a pillow,
slippers, cards, her sisters,
furniture, broken hearts—
sometimes more, sometimes less.
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Kind of a pathetic attempt at a poem (more of a weird list of sorts), but the best I can do today. Definitely a draft, but I'm working on the 'writing, posting, and letting go.' It's a serious topic that I cannot do justice in my state of mind today. Post. Let go. Breathe.
ReplyDeleteGood girl. Post. Let go. I'm already greedily eyeing my stuff for the ones to edit heavily, the ones to toss, but right now they're just adrift without me.
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