i creep on pouring orange
tiptoes over the absence of light
this is what the death of the sun
calls for in her last waking moments;
no blood, no tears, no sweat
a most ceremonious twirl of shadow
vanishing into ashes that
form the dust in sunset

we all come and go

i too wish i could pirouette
on the flames of fire;
dive straight into an ocean
without knowing how to float;
shoot into space
and breathe my own oxygen

but purple flowers grow in my lungs
and i cannot stop the weeds that come with them
oh, it drains and it hurts -
the blue leaks out of me
like a nosebleed stream
and i swallow them back in past my lips.

then i face the corners of my walls
for forty-two days,
for forty-two days without a party
where the world still whirls in wavelike motion
and i stand in a pool of blue

almost like sorcery
after forty-two days
the pads of my feet tread blue
all up my capillaries, up my veins
into the arteries they go -
and back to the red flowers

they are purple again

it's about time i stopped
chasing after sunsets
for your last ray of sunshine
or the honey on your tongue
diamond in your eye
fire in your chest
anchor in your stride
song in your eardrums
for they slip from me far too fast

like light
to try to hold it in my hands

would be to push it away

Oh, mother
Don’t pretend this is how it always goes
Do you notice that conversation
Doesn’t flow between us anymore?
I don’t want to hear about my father
None of what you dislike about my sister
Sometimes your words are screaming monsters
Like those whose shadows children are afraid to see
On their bedroom walls

The daughter you know
Is the one who is eight years old
And I know you’ll never have the time
To know the daughter who’s fifteen
Oh mother, things
And people
Do change
But I’m not sure we can both agree on that

The tears come
When I’m with you
They only really go away
When those you think should matter less
Take them away
Blood is thicker than water, you say
But forgive me
If I’ve stopped believing the things you say
A long time ago

Trust me when I say
I hate that there’s a dull ache in my heart
When I speak about family
Because I don’t know how much of it
Is real
And lasts forever
Something that won’t disappoint
And bleed my heart dry
For I am exhausted of this game
Of playing pretend too


Oh, mother
I could go on
But it hurts to speak the truth
And if you knew about this
I know I’d be disgraced
For not listening to the things you tell me
For not valuing family
For not believing in you
For not being able to recognise you
As the same mother I loved when I was eight
I think you’ve left your old self behind
With your time for me
And now you carry my eight-year-old shell with you
Showcase it as if you know
What metamorphosis is
You don’t see me as a butterfly
Because you only know the caterpillar
Is it really that simple to you?
I used to know this home
It seems like a long time ago
Now when I visit it in my memories
It’s only bittersweet
And I never like to say that things and people
Can be broken beyond repair
But maybe we are
Not so much like pieces that form a kaleidoscope
More like ones that cause catastrophe
With explosions and tears
And broken hearts and minds
This is us, I guess
But oh, mother
I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

In the town up north
They hide the sons and daughters
Who seek refuge under the light of the setting sun
The children who hide
From sons of daughters pregnant with absinthe
Heavy with intoxication
And daughters of sons looming with angry fists
Guns fiery with magazines of threats

When they see no one’s home
Sons of daughters head west
They proclaim "we’re not needed here"
Daughters of sons head east
They cry "we’re not acknowledged here"
So when the children return
The house has moved down southward

When they leave for their own
Easts and wests on their foggy compasses
History trips them on the feet of new strangers
In a murky, yellowed sea of foul leftovers
They make unions on flimsy wooden boats
But when they return home as the sun disappears
Their children have been taken along with the light