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UnNamed

July 19, 2017

My father passed away in 2001, and my mother succumbed to cancer in 2011.  Anyone who has lost a loved one can tell you that you are never quite the same again, and the grief never fully goes away.  

 

We are all seen in different ways by and hold different roles for other people, especially those we love and who love us.  This poem developed from the idea that when those we love and who love us are gone, who we were with and for those particular people also gone.  

 

This poem was published by Angels Flight · literary west on July 28, 2016.

 

UnNamed

 

I keep my ghosts close to know who I am.

Wrapped in their silken shrouds,

I am insulated from your ripe expectations,

from the hopeful allure of life.

 

Wrapped in their silken shrouds

is where my name hides

from the hopeful. A lure of life?

No; I can’t be spoken into being.

 

Is where my name hides

your concern?  It doesn’t fit in your mouth.

No.  I can’t be spoken into being.

I’m the wrong shape, out of context.

 

Your concern? It doesn’t fit.  In your mouth,

the truth is my erasure. It began with their end.

I’m the wrong shape, out of context.

Daughter will not translate to orphan.

 

The truth is: my erasure? It began with their end.

You think you can see, hear, touch me?

Daughter will not translate to orphan,

so I have no meaning in this tongue.

 

You think you can see. Here, touch me.

I am insulated from your ripe expectations,

so I have no meaning in this tongue.

I keep my ghosts close to know who I am.

 

 

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