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Francie Lynch Nov 30
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was,
And what I am.
Jaycee Nov 2014
Nothing is the same anymore.
I feel like I'm in a whole nother lore
My world has been stained,
and I have no one but myself to blame.
Perhaps there are 100,000 forms of darkness,
100,000 forms
of what they call depression.
I know one
or two of them.
There is no suffering scale, no way to compare
the suffering of one
human being,
or one illness
to another.

So we hold candlelight vigils
build totems to gather the universe and pull
back clarity around one another’s edges
But I can't burn sage inside me.
It may attract the bad you hide from. Or
is it the good that scares you?

The world beyond the bond
of hearts is a town
without pity.
A dull inhumanity of systems failing the people
we don’t look at.
In this way the brittle tethers of association are tested.

Hand in hand greeting the blackening sky, bearing
down like the face of a missing child’s parents,
staring at one another
knuckles clasp tight.
Your smile the remaining mirror at the end of the world.

If you were here, or I there
I’d be home right now. On the inside
we’re both waiting for one
another still.
Because I’m the same,
but not.

I am ruthlessly forgetful.
Names, birthdays, work schedules.
But I know the way your hair looks in motion.
The way your face looks
refracted through a cigarette ember.
How when your mood shifts,
the church in your eyes
becomes torn, battered, and bare.

If we could just give
another go-round.
It would be different,

Remember,
your best.
Where you are, might
be, may go.
When it used to feel so good.
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