Poetry
1 min
Drifting by Marcia M.G. Bastos
Alexandra Writers Centre Society
You went again, then came back in my dream
I awoke - sheets tangled, like the years since you left
Counting aloud now, six years - and still in tears
The gravity of the void your going left in my throat
I remember the days when I took you for granted
I remember when I realized I would no longer do that
It didn't come with a manual when your home turned to hospice
After we knew, after it began working its way through you
I awoke - sheets tangled, like the years since you left
Counting aloud now, six years - and still in tears
The gravity of the void your going left in my throat
I remember the days when I took you for granted
I remember when I realized I would no longer do that
It didn't come with a manual when your home turned to hospice
After we knew, after it began working its way through you
We'd sometimes sleep in the same bed,
Within the walls you laboured into home
I'd drift awake to find the air you breathed,
Lapping lightly at my face
In that same room, we created a temple
Warmth and light dripping like honey
Soon, it bound you to it
Turning temple to prison
I'd sit, and I'd talk, and you'd lay silent, looking,
Your chest rising and rattling
Still, your eyes shone -
Love drifting out of them.
(This piece won the Many Voices monthly writing contest in April 2025.)
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