To Survive

The moon reflects on the river, which runs low – the dregs of a storm that has been. So pale, sister moon. The river scatters you.

Ripple, rough, trip, and tumble.

My toes dive into the cool sands that lie beneath the warm crust, which cradles my heels. I sink to the bank of the river, to feel you. The warmth of daylight clings to the surface – the sun that has warmed your face clings to the sand.

Burrow, scoop, sift, and press.

The sand is your skin next to mine. I crush it to my palm. It does not yield, only slips away grain by grain to rejoin its fellows. It will never be felt again.

I cast myself back, my hair spreading over the sand as if it were your fingers.

The stars fall down to me from the darkness of the sky. They tell me of you – for they see all. The dust clouds, churned by caravans and armies, could not blind their sight. They whisper of your exploits and conquests, of the dreams you have dreamed beneath the tents of war. They boast of your strength and the golden-horde of your treasury. They see greatness in the boy that I knew. They blink, as morning dew touched by the sun, spinning the tales that I shall not hear from your lips.

The balmy breeze caresses the hollow of my throat – the tips of your fingers, touching me as they did long ago.

Sliding my lids closed, I am in the grove with you once more, the scent of jasmine heavy in the space between us. Your thumb slips beneath my veil, freeing a tress of my hair. Your palm cradles my cheek, slick with the tears of the lies I will courageously tell. Your smile, it is pure. The memory of your smile slices my heart.

Sometimes, when my vision is squidgy, I look ahead.
I don't realize that you are always beside me.

Divinity

It's not as frightening as it used to be.

tethered

I need to scream, but if I do, the threads that hold my heart together will break.

It's alright, I just had a tad to drunk!

Suddenly...

...I am walking through a new season...

Mom

This morning, over a cup of coffee at the edge of the bay, we watched the seagulls. We discussed the secession of Kosovo, the tribal nature of Afghan politics, and that book that you just read about the Russian occupation. You shared your disillusionment - the sadness of living in such a time. You told me that you were tired - that you plan to retire in four years. You told me that you are frightened. You tell me that you are cynical.

When I see you reading a book, when I hear your laughter, when your capacity for love and forgiveness lives - despite the disappointments of life, I know that your sadness will not last. Is it any wonder that I admire you? I long to reflect the best in you, always.

Echoes

I hear your footsteps everywhere...

"Our greatest revenge will be the laughter of our children..."
-Bobby Sands

Remember

I forget the velvet of the trees, the brightness of the sky, the dance of stray hair that tickled my neck, the dull knife of the breeze that brought our limbs to life...
Your heart smiled through your eyes - that I remember.