I carry the ghosts of my mother’s mother
And her mother and the one before
They appear relentlessly in my memory
And Forever in my voice
As I try to pull together the words
“I …love you”
Is this really love
Or is it fracture
Can I really love .. I mean the pour into someone kind of love … when I carry generations of emptiness
How do you learn to love when
Your mother was never able
How do you know what to feel when
Your mother only mourned
How do you know how to consent
When you were born without it
I hold your hand
But I don’t know how much longer I can hold
Without haunting you
About the Creator
Tuli
Hi, I hope you feel something from my poetry.
I write primarily for the gracious generation born to lost caregivers
May you one day be inundated with the flowers you always deserved
I also dabble in the genres of the random and corny :)
And the Sun Came Up Tremendous
In memory of the 12 girls who were among the first victims of the atomic age. The screen on Mara's smartphone screamed beams of blue light into her eyes as she doom scrolled through social media. It was 4:13am, and she was still laying on her side in her bed unable to let go of the news headlines whipping past.
By Amanda Starks4 days ago in Fiction
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