"twinge" poems
Pinto?
No, not the wild-spirited, color-splotched mare
with mane streaming like flames-thrown
behind in the wind
Taking desert inclines
with scuffing hooves on rock
catching her balance in mesquite
curbing?
The sage, dust
All
that nature throws in its pathway to knowledge
toward treachery of crosswalks?
“P-l-e-a-s-e don't slow down!
Stop signs--?
”No!
Just keep going!
Don't slow down now!”
“They'll hear us coming
3 blocks away!”
Pinto?
Clogged carburetor--?
No one much-mentioned
rear-end inferno reputation??
A mere twinge in my signature
Woman-without-a-clue
“Hey, it runs, right?
Gets where we're goin'?”
Kids duck in back seat
so as not to be seen
In the cloud of smoke
We make our approach
Hiss Spitter, Belch, Pop
and--
BANG!
--Like a gunshot
Kids take cover
on street, in backseat
duck down
so not to be noticed...
“Oh Ma!
MA!!!
Not right here!
Farther down!”
...so not to be seen
...by friends that matter...
in this ride
from hell!
Backfiring Beast--
“Friends”
skitter away
from what will emerge from the smoke and fumes
of high-risk-situation
Kids spill out through jammed door
to unexpected accolades
onto equality's curb
of laughter
Public school's
wake of exhaust and relief
I drive mercifully away
Start of another school day
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Hope
The grass will not settle
Beneath our feet
Hope
The sun will rise
With wondrous oranges
And sleep will come
Hope
That hope is not wasted
Tasting a twinge of regret
May make hope sweeter
Hope
That hope is real
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
It’s so hard, my love
Hard to say, hard to tell
With you it’s something of a tale
Hard to say, hard to tell
The story of us
Hard to say, hard to tell
Sometimes I wish you could forget about me so you didn’t have to tell the stories
Hard to say, hard to tell
The stories that bring a slight twinge to your ears and eyes
Hard to say, hard to tell
I apologize that I’m difficult to get rid of
Hard to say, hard to tell
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
To us, time does not belong
And since reality is wrong...
Live with me in legacy
You're so close already
Residing in memory
Only a hearts twinge and without cringe
My pleasuring in teaching to uke
A warranty insurance for a more creative you
Ill stand on the needle of your thread, fixed and stable without dread
Get tied up and dragged around by your apron strings
Feel the chain around your neck swing as it stings and swings
Be what your tongue tastes when taking all varieties of temperature
Be the brush you use to finish assignments when they get to be too much
As wine deminshes and glass comes clear, take the role of servant, pour countless refill, until you're ready to be bed in achieving complete fulfill
Rest assured, If you feel fear or need a mirror, allow me to transform into reflection to tell you how beautiful everything you wear
and how to me
you are so dear
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
At the start
A bright beginning,
A happy union
An ignited spark
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Clutching the doll
Happily
Going everywhere
Together
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Out the door
Around the house
And maybe to see your friend's
Pet mouse
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Together forever
Best little buds
Totally inseparable
Just like a shadow
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
The doll was there
Through all the sunshine
The doll was there
Through all the rain
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
It kept you company
Through the smiles
Laughing with
Your every mile
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
It kept you safe
Through all those nights
And kept those shadowy things
At bay
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
It dried your tears
Through all those times
A simple hug
Could heal that soul
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
It waited for you
Every day
Until you came back
Home
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Then something happened;
You grew up
The waiting became
Longer
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
The distance widened,
Left behind
But still it kept on
Waiting
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
You talked less
You played less
But still it looked on
Hopefully
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
The doll was stuck
In a timeless state
But you just kept on
Growing
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Soon, you no longer
Came to see
The doll; it was already
Fading
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Forgotten, neglected
In its dusty little corner
Reminiscing of the times
Together, spent
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Wishing you would
Come back round
To look, or just
To care
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
It kept on hoping
It kept believing
It kept the flame alive,
Burning
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
But everyday
It kept on dimming
The pure white fur
With dust, greying
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Time passes
Minutes, hours
Days.
Soon, it's been a year.
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
More time passes
Just like so,
Until you were
So fully grown
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Gone were the days
Of carefree playing
Gone were the days
Of chatting
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
The doll has faded
Right out
Your mind
You were most preoccupied
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Then suddenly
You remembered
Retraced your steps
And found the corner
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
You see the little doll
You've grown up with
A companion, confidant,
A friend.
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
You pick it up
But something's different
The flame inside
Has died
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Hollow eyes stare back
At you
Cold and frozen
Over
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
With a twinge
You placed it
Back onto
A wooden shelf
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Now with the
Closing of the door
The both of you
Were parted
*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end*
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
She speaks to me through Winter's night,
At the clash of fearless winds and tides.
Within whispers of memoired days that passed,
I find myself entangled in each others grasp.
Like a summer's day I forget the tomorrows,
Unworthy challenges, expectancies and sorrows,
Letting go of my anger and unattended pain,
Her whispers are the only things that keep me sane.
I close my eyes to the sound of aquatic gusts,
Invisioning the days we've spent sharing eachother's lust.
Through a swirl of thought I sit beside you,
With petals of flowers falling upon each shoe.
My arm grips you tight as if hanging for salvation,
Yet still we hold a certain fear of confrontation.
We path our way with big and small footsteps,
Through unearthed soil, we silently crept.
The view was shallow; yellow with blue,
I gazed my eyes upon this priceless view.
Amongst an ocean of grass and rooted flowers,
Lay a lonely rose, purveying endless thorn-showers.
How risky and deep and precious the thought,
That within grass and sunflowers, a rose has been brought.
My hands reach to grip, but my eyes twinge with pain,
A sudden push through my lungs, and rush through my veins.
I wake up confused, my dream disappears,
But you my gray rose, you're always right here.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
The monotony of adolescence is a laughable oxymoron.
My mom keeps saying to me,
"Caitlin, you're in a state of flux. Just wait."
Little does she know
I'm waiting for anything
to ebb.
Flow.
Twinge.
Any lurch of impulse of life
in this constant static lullaby.
Maybe I'm just itching to slough off my skin of content
and breathe in a fresh new disposition.
Become intoxicated in the maybes,
and the possibly's.
Embracing the oh-wells
and the never-enough-times.
Eschewing the feeling of everything I've missed
by having it near.
Having him here.
Getting trapped in the crinkles of his smile
and the freckles on his shoulders
that navigate me to the spots I feel most comfy.
Losing regard for the world as I become transfixed
in us
and our patterns on his couch.
Tumble into elation.
Quirks transpire the me's and you's
into the us's and we's.
To think... I was so scared to hold his hand.
Not knowing at the time
how great his waffles would taste
after a night of holding him.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
*I'm unapologetically a bit too sensitive
highly attuned to inanimate feelings
the lone Cheerio circling the drain is given
a kindred companion for its journey
considerate thought is given to the preferences
of animal crackers...heads or legs bitten first
many items are thanked before discarded
others parted with reluctantly if ever
a twinge of conscience is felt while pruning
perfectly healthy leaves from house plants
objects are arranged in pairs and groups
in a compassionate effort for inclusion
The Velveteen Rabbit makes perfect sense to me*
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
We are groups of people
made to hate
because of who we love
not what we stand for.
Did no one listen to
your parents?
You treat others how you want to be treated
not
throwing beer bottles
and whining when it misses their head
not
coming at them with a knife
because a man is holding a man's hand.
We are taught as kids
being gay isn't okay.
You could be a murderer
but you can't love another man.
Why?
Why
can't I love who I love.
People would rather
have a man dying alone
in the hospital
because his boyfriend of 35 years
isn't his husband
than letting love flourish.
People would rather **** us off
than understand.
People would have broken homes
where kids come home to beatings
their head shoved in an oven
*****
molested
beaten to a pulp
cigars burned out on their arms
and hit with beer bottles to
the point of being broken
than to let a happily loving couple of two men
to have that child.
They would rather see
a red sea of bodies
than to allow us
to live.
People would rather say
******
"fruitcake"
***
"fairy"
and watch their child slit his wrist
for every time he looks at a man
and feels a twinge of love
than to let him be happy.
They would rather torcher and torment children to the point
of mental breakdowns
rushing blood
soar throats
living alone
on the streets
no love
pretending.
Than to let them be them.
People love purple
that it means freedom
but I like the rainbow.
Rainbows have a million colours
and not one colour is quite the same hue.
No one hates rainbows
or the gorgeous colours it has.
Not many notice the differences
of them so,
why can't everyone
treat other people
like we're rainbows?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
glasses 'you look beautiful'
her teeth are a little yellow, she
brushes in the morning. somehow
they're still a Colgate white. she mouths
Iluvu eyes squint quiet smile arches it's
spine and finger caresses the barely stubble of my face. her blonde peach fuzz mini moustache tilts left and kisses false worry, charisma. she takes
it as insult when I read line about peach
fuzz moustache. obligatory insult *shes a
woman, women don't have moustaches
haha* she stretches like a resting cat and
returns to thought as my suicide
hangover crunches into a headache of
blind relief
relief
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
We slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
We have to, even though it was only a seven minute walk
to the dining hall, because 1) the food was just
“weird consistency”
(which we tend to say regardless), 2) the light
in there yawned indifferently to us (when does it not?), and
3) the reassuring clink of our forks on our
plates wasn’t even there this time it was
hiding underneath slop
and smothered on top by the intruding sound waves
(who asked?)
of our next-table neighbors’ lives.
You made a sly remark about seconds to catch
a glimpse of youthful ****
She’d gone to get some more baby carrots and cucumber slices
to put in her salad maybe
(who knows? who cares?)
Either way, her youthful **** would make the food taste like
something to you. And you
described them to us when you sat down again so
the slop would taste like something to us
(there’s pride in that type of generosity, don’t forget) and
(congratulations)
we had the faint impression of
some sort of
****** there, but
we didn’t tell you
(it’s easier that way).
A cup, a squeeze, a kiss on her ******* yes that could feed
our hunger for a night. And tonight was a night
like any, so her ******* led us to talk
of women, and women led us to talk of
love
(and the blooming one for the poor *******
as we who lost withstood the vicarious twinge of
an addling ****** very different from
the first.
This one led us to pine for sweets, but the ones we found
were dry, so we left the table, left the dining hall, looking around at
the others: the lonely, the couples, the blessed
lonely couples, and the fortunate friends
huddled against everything with open laughter, enjoying
the weird consistency like drunk theoretical physicists before
they discovered bubbles and inflated eternally meaning
when they safeguarded a
zoo with a pistol they didn’t know how to
use, in Soviet Russia.
(So you see?) We have to slump on the couch
when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
No one even bothers to pick up a guitar, we leave all four of them
strewn on the floor like
dead wooden boxes because
Dylan or Young or Cash (or whoever)
is already in the living
room. Any
bubbling, inflating, theoretical physicist
(any drunk, pistol-packing zookeeper, for that matter) will
tell you that.
So we slump, comfortably uncomfortable,
(at least we’re trying!)
feeling their (our) strings plucking. No sounds, no voices.
Because we don’t need
to hear this that.
Not right
now. (Not right
now).
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
if you pause for a moment
to look around
really, really look
and truly see
all the beauty
in the chaos
then suddenly
you may catch a glimpse
a slight twinge
in your soul
whispering how
absolutely necessary
your existence is
to the universe
the fabric that knits you together
flows through
each and every
spirit that passes
every single day
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
A horrific thunderbolt
hit me right at my chest.
Oh! what an assault.
A hundred carafes of poison
or
the thousand rounds of bullets
would have hurt less
than the pain it caused
when
you abandoned me.
But,
I tried to deal with it.
‘Move on’,
I urged my inner me.
‘I am not a loser.
Quitting is never an option’,
I tried to pacify the anguish.
It did not aid.
The palpable twinge
troubled more;
aww! my delicate heart.
To sweep away the woe,
I pact with the *****
Alas!
Every sip of the nasty tipple
ousted heavy flood
from my shuddering eyes.
I could tell you , love,
that was quite a sight.
Still the heart pounding,
the excruciating truth,
still unsolved.
I banged my liquor’s glass
in sheer dismay.
Sane enough to halt
the bleeding from the wound,
I searched the bandage.
Sadly, the wound was in heart.
- Bhaskar Dhakal
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
just another face in the crowd
just another classmate
we spoke occasionally, commenting on each other's work
Then it happened.
A random visit to my slumbering thoughts
made cloudy confusion blow away with the dark storm
I awoke with a smile on my face
hope wrapped around me
with a misty twinge of impatience for Tuesday rolling through
i'm not ready
i can't be ready
it's too soon...
isn't it?
it doesn't matter, he's not interested anyways
i don't want a rebound
i can't get hurt again
silence swept in behind you
calmly, coolly, quietly
setting things down beside me
playful jibes,
attentive conversations,
shy glances,
soft smiles,
ending with long walks in the darkening sky bright with city lights
heart pounding in my breast,
breath slipping past my lips in bursts,
butterflies fluttering in my stomach
things I had not felt for a long time
rose to the front of my mind
blooming in my heart
stirring with every class spent together
The fairytale I longed for may not exist,
but you may be the man to help me find something better
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me
When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'
I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'
Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'
Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.
That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
Words are lovely
but can sometimes be dull
depending on your mood.
You can make someone fall in love,
or break an innocent heart,
or have someone jump with glee,
or maybe have a poor soul wallow in despair.
Words can sometimes sting
just as much as it can comfort.
So next time you write something down,
think twice.
You may not be saying something nice.
Apr 28, 2011
Apr 28, 2011 at 2:47 AM UTC
It always seems to be a similar path,
this one I go down.
strung along, hanging on to the back of jean pockets and
holding on to loose hands
clinging just gently enough to not be a bother,
this is how I love.
insecure
like a mid day shadow peeking out to make it's presence known
quietly, but not too loud as to call attention,
like a peach picked up at the market
promising sweet no matter how bruised
I care only to keep the tastebuds wanting
cautious of being too much,
constantly afraid that I am,
conscious of how easily I could be replaced,
one sided like
skin meeting ink
you will be the tattoo gun and
I will be the swollen reminder
you will go unharmed while
I am marked permanent
twinge-yearning,
nail-pulling,
folding back the flesh.
this is how I love and
I know how this goes
you'll look at other girls and
I'll look at you the way the land looked
at rain after the first drought
you'll give away glimpses of your smile to strangers and
I'll give you all of me like it's possible
to grow back complete
you'll put your arms around hips that aren't mine and
I'll feel my own expand with envy
you'll toss around the word love and
I'll attempt to catch it every time it lands
near someone else's feet
you'll carry other names in your mouth while
yours will be the only one in mine, tucked
safely under the tongue
you'll provide me reassurance without an asking for it and
I'll pretend I don't care about a thing in the world when
really it is you who has become my entire universe
you'll play me the way that I'm used to and
I'll laugh like it's a game I never wanted to win anyway
because
I hate losing things I love
you'll make me swell empty without intending to and
I'll make you full with whatever I have to offer
you'll inflict sadness unknowingly and
I'll make you happy like it's a method for survival,
like it's my god **** purpose for existing
this is how I love.
not too tightly, just soft enough for your liking
here I am, programmed for the pleasing
I will hang on like a child's fist does a dandelion
light enough to keep the stem intact
leaving room for your fingers to wrap around
praying you wont let go but
this is how I love and I know how it goes
how it will go
destined to meet the ground eventually after
being dragged along knowingly
I am
aware of how it is,
the same,
always but
this is how I love for
I do not know any other way
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
I felt an unusual twinge in my neck
as I turned toward you.
Heavy breathing signaled morning sleep
as my arm reached across your palpitating belly.
These casual cuddles, typical of the start of our day
emit a warmth unlike sunrays or furnace heat.
No use to wake you or tease apart your legs
for seldom do we play.
That may come after morning news is devoured,
bananas peeled and different morning hungers eased.
Now i rise to consume small pellets of brown, pink,
grey and white chemicals compounded to keep me alive.
There is a stillness downstairs with greetings from a well-worn chair
contoured to support my soul.
Blades whirl overhead churning a breeze
my face accepts upon my forehead.
Now is my time of meditation, my attempt to
listen to whatever god pervades this universe.
There will be no answers, no jolts of insight or revelations,
only small particles of peace to cover my disquiet.
You will lumber down steps with effort accentuated by creaks
and moans that are more pronounced each day.
Our lips will touch confirming both obligation and willingness
to walk beside each other.
I wonder if you think there could be more?
Could each gaze toward one another be longer?
Could I unbutton myself enough to see or would you scold me
for such an unrepressed display?
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
****** up paddy's weekly binge,
did nothing for poor mary's twinge.
she quelled her urge with robbie rasta,
who smoked the weed,and **** was faster.
the ***** guru jumped with fright,
yo husband early home tonight.
don't ye worry, stay in bed,
the fockers ****** right off his head.
mary, mary, the drunkard bleats,
der is tree people beneath dees sheets,
shot op ye dronk i am no cheat,
get outa bed an count the feet,
sorry me darlin, der's only four,
staggered to the bathroom door,
where ye goin? what ye thinkin?
to wash me feet, they're fockin stinkin.
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
A blinding
Hopeless inclination towards a blending of nostalgia
And something just a twinge surreal.
Too enraptured, perhaps, or too locked inside the senses
The search takes me places, to small shards that I don't quite comprehend.
Still unsure why, if I can't, or I just don't want to.
It's old and familiar
Soaking in solitude, rife with memory.
Touched lightly by the hem of rose tint, blooming in the spreading flames.
As the old wooden paneling, tried as a tinderbox
Begins to peel away, affected by the heat.
A fire, awakening with the first rays of morning.
To warm up the little room, as the walls softly fall, turning to ashes.
Revealing the bare frame.
And the fauna outside begins to show itself
Sprinkled with dew, gently coaxing away the flames.
Rooted too close, it would seem
As they progress, slowly wither under ash
But for now, I still crawl through creation.
Hopeless, I'll never recapture...
Ignoring new context, engulfed in this fruitless rapture
With the past still dancing through my head.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
I chased down the bustling road
when I caught a glimpse of her walking down.
Today I stand, impatient;
my finger thumping a pithy tune,
as she climbs down the stairway,
one step at a time.
*Time capsules are concealed
in objects that we rarely see,
and only notice when silence visits
and sits in the middle of the room,
unpleasently.*
Today was on such day,
when my foot accidentally brushed
a tea cup that had bravely withstood,
the anomalies of my childhood,
and leaning back on its broken handle
took delight,
on my sudden emotional plight.
*After years of unrelenting boundaries
the yearning to jump over,
turns into the ultimate goal.
Definace, with a vengence,
and fury so grave,
mars conscience by its senstaions,
makes it depraved.*
Forgone was the leap
that bound my heart with rules
of love, loyatly and frienship,
for it now only understood,
the twinge of ache it gained
whenever it recognized,
a then familar face.
*In a world fantastical,
there is order and right.
And mistakes are begotten
to only be forgotten
and set some memories aside.*
I held my hand out,
on the last stair, she looked up,
and in brown eyes, just like mine,
I saw days that now defined,
our relationship,
as mother and daughter.
*We talk of far shores and setting sail,
with our two feet firmly rooted in the bay.
The anchors aren't pulled, the rigs aren't checked,
we are rarely ready, if ever,
at our fancy's behest.*
In the seconds that she took to step down;
seconds in which I re-lived a lifetime,
I ran down the same road,
the bustling street with the same goal.
I held my mother's hand
and let go.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC