(no subject)
mother mother sang her songs in sweet honey and coughed till she exploded into thousands of flowery bits that were swallowed up by the mouths of flies in the sky filled with purple and pink and streaks that look like god in the early hours of summer evenings
she cried on the nights when he left her, alone and in her blue dressing gown she had since they wed twenty years prior. the fences were white then, not chipped to the wood. bodies swirled around that day, fluttering like wings in the moist air. the sky was filled with water, eager to spill upon them and wash them clean, pin down their hair and release them from their fears. make them children again. they laughed when, finally, the first drops fell upon them and they raced to cover the food. the old ones sought shelter under the patio while the young ones looked at one another, their expressions full of hope - "should we do this?" - and their feet found the way. their bodies hurled through the stream, holding onto one another then releasing, gyrating alone together in unexpected bliss
they were wed years ago and now she stood looking out the window at a sky filled with stars, cold and dry as ice. the snow still hadn't fallen and it was coming on february, the year her only daughter was born. the daughter who gave her life to save her, the daughter who never graced the world with her screams. she could still hear her newborn silence on nights like this, nights when the world was frozen with the deaths of a million children
she cried on the nights when he left her, alone and in her blue dressing gown she had since they wed twenty years prior. the fences were white then, not chipped to the wood. bodies swirled around that day, fluttering like wings in the moist air. the sky was filled with water, eager to spill upon them and wash them clean, pin down their hair and release them from their fears. make them children again. they laughed when, finally, the first drops fell upon them and they raced to cover the food. the old ones sought shelter under the patio while the young ones looked at one another, their expressions full of hope - "should we do this?" - and their feet found the way. their bodies hurled through the stream, holding onto one another then releasing, gyrating alone together in unexpected bliss
they were wed years ago and now she stood looking out the window at a sky filled with stars, cold and dry as ice. the snow still hadn't fallen and it was coming on february, the year her only daughter was born. the daughter who gave her life to save her, the daughter who never graced the world with her screams. she could still hear her newborn silence on nights like this, nights when the world was frozen with the deaths of a million children