in two months, one year

[started this on may 27 [the date]] //

a year is unfathomable.

it is no time [void]

it is ghost that [passes] stays without passing [staying]

it is surreality and un-reality and reality i feel like lead in my veins [that collects in head/feet]

it feels [like] nothing at all [i feel [like] nothing at all] but too like breathing in fiberglass or breathing out dirt clods

or like forgetting to breathe until i realize i am cold [my skin cool clay]

it feels the wear of roaming restless incessant and legs listless calcifying [the topography of my toes in bed]

it is uprooted buried emplaced in no place but sowed adrift in fits and fevers fragments of urn and skin cells

and her strands and my certainty grasping sensing

what can be seen but not touched and felt unknowing

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her home

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“tell them momma needs her babies” (text from mom to come home, spring 2015)

mom is home, her center. she connects us through our core, my brother and I metaphysically umbilically tied. he says my stomach heart hurts and I say I can feel it too. but then there are butterflies and waves of water and we feel her home that we carry with us center.