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Feb 2016
I dreamt one night of my mother gently moving the clasp of a shimmering necklace back round to my spine and
Bringing the charm once more to center in the middle of my chest
This act, this scene, caught something within her
Perhaps it was her reflection in the chaon links which pleased the poet  
Perhaps she got a flash of memory, a moment of pure nostalgia--
Anyhow, "why" matters not
Only that she smiled and felt inclined to say
"someone special has been keeping you in their thoughts"
(As if something so shallow were worthy of swooning)
Instead of smiling I laughed in her face cruelly
I pondered the absurd tales of love
Love, as sung by the unhappy ladies in the church choir
Love, painted by Poe as tragedy and death, as something leading to doom
Love, felt by shy children in the neighborhood, kept alive so long as giggles and scraped knees remained
Love, church, husband wives and babies, happy home and all the comforts, jewelry boxes brimming with diamond rings and necklaces
I laugh at the belief of a god who allows himself to be held hostage in the mind of a man
As if I would feel honored to be thought of by anyone, as if I felt I needed this god or this man to know me and to love me
As if love could ever be so important
Emma Hill
Written by
Emma Hill  417
(417)   
294
   ---, Cecil Miller and Eiliv Advena
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