I never heard the song of solitude
but felt the structure, plot and rhyme
of mother’s time who fled upon a wind
whilst i walked a long mile alone
My face a window
how silently i waited hours
to see what imagined but hardly
ever held: wept and prayed
to hold my mother within my arms.
All is a nightmare laid to bed.
After all. Grown, broken, and
trailing more — i have loved
other women more. Many dead
because I attract the crazy
of them all. The women whom I
loved — many deep inside the soil
and a few still walking upon
the soil as ghosts whom haunt me.
:: 11.01.2021 ::