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Yolanda May 4
You left like I wasn’t reason to stay
Not being heartless I’m just using my heart less

All I wanted was your time but that was a crime

Wrapped up in misery you became a mystery
Two peas in a pod estranged from one another
Almost inevitable
All you had to do was stay.
Melanie May 2
You are estranged.
We haven't talked in years,
and although I've invited you
you haven't invited me.

I've tried, and tried, and tried again.
Graduation, competitions, concerts, and plays.
You weren't waiting in the wings
or sitting in the stands, the audience.

No, you were at home.
Your lakeside house with big windows,
with your real granddaughters, cousins, nieces.
Your real family.
While I was wondering what I did to deserve this.

But I kept trying.
I kept calling, inviting.
You left me in the dust,
constantly leaving me with your voicemail,

Hi, we can't come to the phone right now,
but if you leave a message we'll get back
to you as soon as we can. Thanks! Bye.

I try to unfollow, unfriend.
But that would only put me further away
from cousins I don't know.
People I've never met.

I give up.
I'm done trying.
If you still care,
the inviting's up to you.
For years, people in my family have wanted nothing to do with me. It's not as bad as it used to be, but every time I'm getting ready to see them for a few hours I panic and wonder if it'll be the last time I see them, if they'll decide to cut me off again.

This poem has been submitted to Telluride Institute's Fischer Prize contest.
Casey Jan 30
He watches me close.
"Family," I say, "lose hope."
For I am not you.
For those who are expected to become someone other than who they truly are.
Yanamari Nov 2018
Bring it on
I will fight
Let your words loose upon my
Infant heart
Whip and whip again
Gaze at me with your
Estranged lens
Leave me to fend for myself
Let me hurt
Whether or not I shall rise again
I will be the victor
Of my end

My dreadful..
Dreadful
End...

Be gentle
Show me your hand

Be gentle...
Lighten your gaze and
Uncloud your lens
Let me love you
Before the end..

For estranged
With estranged
From estranged
We didn't say much that night,
but the silence loudly spoke.
We were burning moonlight
watching it go up in a puff of smoke.
We both felt the fire,
but it couldn't last long.
For one of us or the other
the heat would soon be gone.
There was no fear, just separation;
the night bore a connotation
of terminal proportions,
and an impending self-condemnation.
Awash there in the silence,
watching the night hang overhead,
we sat, as though watching kin
slowly slipping away in their deathbed.
Like, we know that it's coming,
there's no impending sense of dread.
We'll say a prayer and throw some flowers
Then both sleep in our own separate bed.
We almost force a smile
when our eyes meet.
It takes a while of trying
Before we both look back at our feet.
Still, she leans into me,
Closes her eyes against my shoulder.
The only warmth left between us
So I wrap her up and hold her
and we sit there,
cloaked in the waning night.
The clouds have blanketed the stars
and we've burned up all the moonlight.
Kuvar May 2018
When I wave
I am saying
hi and goodbye
To  be welcome
Or,
To be estranged
Life has taught me
Never to be so sure
©️Kuvar
father-watching
faraway
triggered sweet by
memory plucked
from twinge of
heart at
husband whiskers
sprinkled in
the sink


father
slow transforming
out of sight
whisker white
a-creep through
long-time
beard of boyish
blondish-brown


sprouting
scraggled out from
ear and nose
and knuckle
round


eyes a-cave
and sunken deep
in shaded-over
cavities


for inward looking
more than
out


with no more
footballs
flung
about


and no more
children yanking
on the waking hours'
daggy trousers


for weeping
over old-time
music secret
in the dark


up with the
birds
down with
the sun


midlife
rush at last
a-hush and
calm in its
surrender
done


bones exposed
of parenthood
held frail a-clung
by gristle grey of
simple habits


coffee thick
and silky
run with
milk


and crispest
crusty bread
torn up
for dipping into
hearty stock


with olives
cheese and
ham on top


a drop
of something
oaky sipped
and languished


a-crawl with
thoughts of
father own
disintegrating


boyhood memories
coddled close
and satiating


with daughter
unbeknownst
father-watching
faraway


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
A man to whom one has looked up with reverence is especially treasured. His strength, his masculinity, his ability to protect those he loves. And as he ages his loved ones notice a softness creeping in, which only belies the softy they always knew he was inside.

But nevertheless it is poignant to watch—even from afar—as a great man begins to wither. Ever so slightly. But wither. In his body only, not his mind. But wither.
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