A Month Before Birth
Prepared to swing the branches,
steady like in days of another year,
when time was mine to pull apart,
to drive depression from my sphere.
But bluish grey is all I see through
these pregnant eyes. I see a change I cannot
cope with, and separation between those I love.
I see my dead father in every footstep and
wish to fade like the autumn leaves
into colours of gold and fire before I become
the earth’s seasonal meat, before I am
further gone down the road of inevitable fate
where I lose over and over the letters of my name,
where my core is chipped and isolation
is my sole companion.
I don’t see how the clock can turn or how I
can be stronger yet against this undertow.
But I bend and bend, and have not
broken, and soon
a child will…
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