two sides to every story

Me, carpe diem’

she was about presence

discovered sighs and smiles through her children

accumulated persistence as a way of being

collecting newness, with every transformation

vividly committed, compliance received in inheritance

enduring the liveliness of daily life

normalcy of motivations surpassed any cynicism

daughter to children of a disruptive migration

made her the custodian of personal reinvention

Me too, let it go

she was the leftover heart, fluttering in a flawed world

a heart that lived in asylum, within the imperfections of her mind

surviving delibitating loss, and the family that lived on

learning to isolate her hearing from mourning anger

floating like flickering hope, above all rooms she entered

protecting dreams from being ensnared, into suffering

fearful that mortality could within minutes, be wrapped like a present

afraid of blaming, because it would reflect cowardice in the mirror

sometimes she questioned, if being blessed was a test

 

she used a poetry prompt to write her own obituary –

and then, grateful 

she reconciled

to being a star

her personality

spluttering now

forever

between

effervescence and a void

 

NaPoWriMo 2018

Identities