Liz

12/25/23

She’s looking for the beauty in the gray skies,
sucking in her stomach,
knowing, wishing, longing for a social class to feed it.
She knows it, she gets it:
trauma forms the prettiest scars and the deepest lives.
She knew words were more than plots and punches.
She knew that the world never stopped expanding
and when it did, it was time to go.
She knew the set of Endless Corridors Repeating
and the strength it took to keep existing.
She knew camp, she knew class.
She had thick black hair
and inviting eyes.
She felt depressed, she felt lonely.
She knew of the vacant spot in her soul,
that could only be filled by her own will.
She knew classic literature.
She knew that if you looked into something
a deeper meaning would always come.
She knew motherly instinct and childhood pain.
She knew not to fix problems, but to listen first.
She knew yelling hurts less than silence.
She knew there was always a light,
somewhere, anywhere,
no matter how constant, how long the tunnel.
She knew taste, she knew love.
She was graced with a ticket to the land above.

My mother and I share blood,
and she lives alongside me in
every thought
every touch
every feeling and
every time the sky shines gray ––
we’re both looking for the beauty
between the clouds and our face,
holding our bond to the grave.