Mama killed daddy with a fork. Daddy used a knife. There were no queens, nor kings chronicled in their lives. Were born of slaves and common men. Were built of fire and ice. Were bathed in blood, and blood again. Until their great demise.
Mama said earth was born to house souls, like mamas housed babies and mittens housed hands. She said the moon held all earth’s memories, like she held me and daddy held her. After she died, I prayed that the moon would send me her voice, her face, her scent.
I try to write you, Childhood, in beautiful prose, scrawl you in silken ink. I try to teleport there, to donuts for dinner, to Chickenpox and calamine lotion, sticking to Princess Ariel pajamas, to bunkbed slides. But you sit on the paper, bathetic, worthless…
She didn’t deserve you. Didn’t know the sleepless nights endless cries, homemade, garbage lullabies, sung to get a half-assed smile, ease you for a little while, bridge that gap between pain & rage, like twisting smoke of burning sage. No, the world didn’t deserve you.
You remember our first kisswhen I almost bit your lip? We were standing in the snow.I’ll never forget. You were never judgmental,never heartless, never icy. Didn’t think the day would comewhen you weren’t still beside me. Sleep well, My Love.I’ll be there soon.
Back then, we lost ourselves, faith, minds, in the thick smoke of infidelity, drama, lies exchanged to save face, pride, when in actuality we could’ve been better, had we simply tried.
I write, “A cardinal stopped outside my window and the nurses let me eat pizza.” You write, “Happy Birthday,” and for me to keep my wishes. I write, “I’ll save them for you so one day you can visit.” You write how that would be cool, whenever you feel sick less. I write, “Someday, like […]
We found grace in streams of yesterdays and dreams of tomorrows. We found it in interlaced fingers, tiptoeing on snow-covered decks, in late night fingertip massages, reclined, while winter vibes vibe to crackling firewood. Thank God. We found peace.
She once knew the harmony of words- rose-pink and yellow, birthing brilliant coral. She once knew how to merge them- raw honey, aromatic lemon pound cake tea. She once tasted their emotion- life, love, death&all… Now they escape her. And she wishes to know them again.
I, human, also known as charlatan, surmise that this too shall pass. Obfuscating our own eyes with our own beauty, & our own lies, while the world burns, waiting for its own time to see that pale, white unicorn, pointing its horn at a red giant. Too late for latent gratitude.