theres no grief like another day
with each foot
sunken into the sand-hills of contradictory continents
straddling this divide of time and language
the ocean has been colored red
from our aching hearts
since they hammered these border walls up
i’m crying at my computer waiting for my best friend to answer
i’m crying while i write this letter to my dying grandmother,
under her covers
an ocean away
i’m hoping for a call to me
a distinct answer to which
side of the shore i belong
each time i look at my reflection half of me is gone
pieces
strewn across unforgiving terrain
the stretch of an abyss
only as far as the stitches on my left hand
the six hour time divide, waiting for my sister's awakening
to tell her a dream of us holding hands,
which i won’t recall by
her morning
what is the divide anyway?
except an inherent part of my heart
i carry the world within me-
spilling rivers
crushing waves,
but it still feels so far apart
