Memories and Remembrances

We remember them.

These words sit heavy,
layering my tongue
with a thick mucus,
sluggish, warm —
a reminder.

I feel for them
as I think about

this life,
this body,
this existence.

I could be you
or you I, given
different circumstances,
hopes, dreams.

You are feathers and bone,
sunshine and moon dust.

Every raindrop,
every falling leaf,
every dandelion seed
knows your name.

What makes it the right time?
I suppose only you (or I)
would know that.

Yours has come and gone,
beautiful in shape,
in essence,
in love.

I struggle on,
searching for that glimmer
everyone talks about.

As night creeps forward,
I hope for a new dawn
with the setting sun.

The Air is Heavy

I come to you with a heavy heart.
The world is on fire.
People are sick.
Today marks the remembrance of 9/11.
My school is holding a strike.

***

I sit in a worn chair, facing
a wall of kind memories,
trying to understand grief.

Frank Turner blares from my computer
and his words are scribbled across the top
of my only black t-shirt.
Earl Grey tea swirls ’round in my mug.
I am feeling…

I hold sacred space for all those lost, suffering,
living in trauma put upon them by others.
I mourn the forgotten,
the loved,
the young,
the old.

My heartstrings are pulled by our crises.
Life is blooming, dying, trembling.