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Jun 2020 · 276
My Mommy Rivera
Angie Rai Jun 2020
She sleeps by day,
wakes at night.

Falls under the waves,
fertile by sand.

Sun my child,
I only have one.

Earth my lover,
soon will have none.

My mommy rivera,
good question, my son.

I never hear her,
From continents she's forgotten.
Anguish mommy, anguish.
Jun 2020 · 150
We Are Trees.
Angie Rai Jun 2020
Leaves, attached to the stem allowed limited reign over conversations with the wind.
Our first meeting, then the second, again the third, nights of sweat and liberation. No barriers.

The stem in which is branched out, sturdy and workable.
Compromised where we laid our prenup and hard lines.

The trunk, rough, thick and unmovable.
Our limitations, the barrier slowly crumbling, seeping through cracks.

The roots deepened earth as the foundation in which we lay our relationship.
I am always yours.

We are each other.
We are whole again.
Me and you.
Feb 2019 · 3.7k
Grade
Angie Rai Feb 2019
The 'D' printed,
with the harsh corners of the-
Ariel in which I lay
dead,
on it's scar-branding curve.
I failed.
I should've revised better.

— The End —