Mother Of None

Posted On September 9, 2015

Forgive me as I disappear into this photograph
with its browned edges and creased quadrants.
My hands grip onto this ageless memory
as a family of four silently grins at me.
I feel like a stranger when I revisit you.
You stole the shy smile of a girl
who had no fight and robbed her.
You disrupted the balance and made ruins.
I lost the hands that used to write
hands that looked upwards to you.
You left me with battered legs.
Did you watch as I leapt and fell
imploded into a crumble of quiet veins?
I wanted to run—my God—I wanted to run
You told me you would not leave
but you grasped my empty hands
and used them to wave goodbye.