Tag Archives: death

The Phone Call

She thinks, I wonder if her knew before he left. I mean, did he have any idea before he left the house that day. Did he know that he would murder a mother’s soul, an unknowing mother who always knew? … Continue reading

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His Tortured Soul

  The headline screamed He was Tortured Before He Was Killed as if though he was tortured his entire life. Somehow the suffering he did when he was alive went unnoticed. No one heard his silent cries. He carried his … Continue reading

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A Pain to Swallow Your Own

The silence was enough to drive us all mad. It would have too if we had not finally stopped breathing. It echoed in our brains, this forlorn silence, as we felt the blood draining from our bodies. They would say … Continue reading

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Empty Spaces

Last night I dreamed that I was in my grandmother’s house, a place I no longer go since she passed away. I was staring out the kitchen window. Someone I recognized in the dream, but not when I woke up, … Continue reading

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I Speak Your Names

With tears in my eyes, I now mourn another death at the hands of the police. And from that place of grief within me, I have composed a poem. But then, I have to take a break. Because I am … Continue reading

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Mother Earth

The earth swallows our dead whole. It closes its jaws tight on our grandmothers and mothers like love and they are lost to us. We mourn their deaths, refuse to let go as if though Death doesn’t have a hoarding … Continue reading

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Thirteen Steps to Completely Disappearing from Life

“I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted/ to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.” — from “Tulips” by Sylvia Plath “For love is held by a chain of obligation which, men being selfish, is broken … Continue reading

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The Lovely Bones

The lovely bones bear the scars of love. I keep trying to bury the bones but they keep rising to the surface. The living stand in place unable to move on until the dead release them. So, I carry around … Continue reading

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Leave the Bones

There are ill-formed dreams on which I can no longer stand. They have become the wilted flowers that languish in vases on cemetery grounds. No one waters the flowers. The flowers are forgotten as quickly as the ones who died. … Continue reading

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The Anniversary

It’s been two years. The anniversary. The day I discovered that blood doesn’t wash away as easily as drawings made with crayons, & that the left over images of chubby fingers wrapped around waxy pencils, even if they were scented, … Continue reading

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