sacred blood on broken doorsteps
The beetle leaf forests...the pigeon holes, would
our strands be your roots and your twigs again?
The smiles within our pink
graves safely buried, now we meander this
rigmarole as empty shells -- once home
Tattered as it may, would I attain bliss
in the maternal lap again?
Yellow bicarbonate bombs, smoke-stealing
the blessed sundays and the purple sunsets
Our lost song
deafened by the wail of a motherless child
Soil once born behind the veils
of a solitary tear, here is one for the last time
--me
