She was dead long before she stopped breathing.
Her sunken, empty eyes
held no hope as she sat idly
on the deck or face-down on the beach as the sun
breathed her in.
She seized her moments of clarity around their necks
and submerged them, whining in ether.
She starved her body of loving embrace
and recoiled to touch like she was toxic
And when her eyes fused shut when life burnt out,
she reached towards the ceiling for God to hold her.
I thought my 20s
would be when everything
made sense –
I don’t know what I was expecting, though,
since my 20s began with the death
of my mother
and ended with the death
of my limitations.
My 20s held funerary services
of who I thought I was –
who I thought was worthy of me.
It was the death of ignoring myself;
My 20s ended with me coming to life.
Like building our homes
at the edge of the sea,
we put our hearts
in the hands of lovers.
Being as close as we can be
to the most beautiful thing –
the sun, the spray,
the dancing blue.
We gaze far, far –
ignoring the etching of land at our feet.
We know it can destroy us
at any time.
And often hope we die before it does.
It’s weird to think that I met Death
Not for myself, always in passing.
He is quiet and humble
And collects final breaths
Of people who he’s ready for
It doesn’t matter if they’re ready
When it’s my turn to die
I look forward to the encounter
Not the end of my life
But the reunion with the last being
To hold my mother’s hand