In disguise,
a hopeless wonder
Apprehensive and paranoid
I leap towards the open
my feet sticking to the field grass
My memories build worlds and voids,
steps and ladders shy away from my path Something tells me to climb upward
latch onto these fears I house within my shoes,
maybe take off the glasses I wear as an excuse,
to ignore your outstretched hand
But in disguise, a hopeless wonder
A small shallow breath
Accepting defeat against my stubbornness
This fear is nothing but distance I strive to keep
Because if I give you all of these words
and instead of grasping them tightly
they slip between your fingers
fallen, forgotten, meaningless.
then what?

from your name
I have built a world
It's made of memories
And all the things you loved
I stole pieces of the moon
from the nights we could not sleep
where you told me stories of your past
and ways for me to be
and now they illuminate
all the city streets
of houses and homes
that you have grieved
and I paint this world
onto the walls of this place
that whisper your name
every day to me
so that I can walk past
and remember
all the ways you taught me to breathe

And with this hope...

When all these walls turn into doors
Oceans into rivers with bridges
Mountains into hills, hills to fields

Will you then realize
The potency of all your dreams
When you tell them to me
They invade all my air space
My thoughts and my sleep
And I hold onto them for you
Thinking of ways to draw maps
Reciting them in my prayers
Waiting for the day
When all this hope I carry
Returns home to you

And with this hope...

I exist in a world where you are never without dreams

The inheritance of loss
Often told as a tragic story
I sit here writing
while gripping onto the edges of every passing day
hoping to change the narrative of this pain
I'm sorry to my daughter;
there were too many things I never solved
I walked with this heaviness
with a dream to transform the world for you
but instead, I lost and lost
and left these wounds on your carpet
watered a grass that was already dead
and called it advocacy
The inheritance of loss
is beaded into these gold bangles
the same ones my mother gave me
the same ones I keep for you

I don't sit in these minutes.
Wondering how and why
I fall into a motion, mindlessly
Opening cabinets of half-made
Half-done, half-finished things
Opening and closing
Yesterday and today
Just opening and closing
Until it starts to make sense
Until this loss fills in the cracks and these half-things, this half me,
find a resolution to seal these doors shut

Parallel tables down this neighbourhood street
I can see some of them from distant windows
One is vacated
One is full, people buzzing about
Hot food coming out of the kitchen onto the table
Bubbling, boiling soups, freshly tossed salads
Glasses brimming with new stories
Then, to the right, a person
Sits at their table alone,
One dim light, eating from a bowl
My guess is cereal.
Stories, stories, stories
Troubling questions
Awkward silence
He’s meeting the parents today
So, he fidgets and taps his feet
She’s telling them she got into college
He just got home from his best friend’s funeral
The other house is dark,
They always have dinner at six
But today, the lights are off
Trip? No.
They’re saying goodbye to grandma in the hospital
That couple in the duplex
I think it’s their delivery date
There’s that one house,
Everyone eats at a different time
Mom, daughter, and second daughter rotate washing dishes
but the older one just got married
it looks like they are still settling into the newfound gaps
her brother left today
a house that used to be loud and crowded
now, two empty nesters
they never eat at the table anymore
they put on the TV
with their plates
because the couch is a smaller space to fill
than these dining room tables

I don’t think I could tell you of ease
But I see you across from this sea in between
Shifting in your seat, nursing a dull ache
I know that feeling all too well
But I don’t want to tell you about it
In case I may come across insensitive
Because I’m trying not to shift this center of gravity
We both share in desperation
And tip us over the edge
We didn’t dare to wonder about
But I never learned to swim
And this sea in between
is filling up my lungs
When did it get so hard to breathe?
I call after you, under my shallow breath
I see you for everything  
Hoping you see me too
But this heavy air we drink
Settles in your shadow and mine
It spells out gracefully
That the spaces between us
Are built out of love
And so, we go on
Paving distances
For these descending clouds