By Casey Shelley
Entwined, a bond you cannot break: maternal. Together, she would say there’s always a way. There wasn’t. I knew, at nineteen, nothing but latex and IV’s. The smell of it: spreading. Appointed to watch while light decayed to dark. It happened and I held my life in a jar of ashes. Each emerald eye entirely emptied: hollowed hearts of sisterhood. Familial fears form makeshift memories: anything but that. Together, we say there’s always a way. There is.
Of Love Poems
Love, I’ve learned is more than flowers & gold. —it’s chalk on pavement, bandaged knees, teaching without a degree. Love, I’ve found is scribbled notes locked away for an I miss you day.