near the chain link gate, licked clean
by my cat, embroidered by ants.
An offering of pick-up sticks, a strategy
of careful tenderness–a game you
never played. I can’t decide if remembering
our distances draws you closer or
outlines your absence.
Maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe tangled
thinking is perfect, as daughter playing
mother, I learned the endless practice
of pulling apart your knots, trying to unravel
what I’d done or didn’t do to upset you
again. Now I bury the offered bones
beneath the front porch. The soil, never
touched by rain or sun, a silky sand,
transparent as the love songs you sang
alone in the kitchen every Sunday when
you thought no one was listening.
Jennifer Mills Kerr is an educator, poet, and writer who loves mild winters, anything Jane Austen, and the raucous coast of Northern California. Connect with Jennifer through her Substack, Poetry Inspired or say hello at her website.
of careful tenderness–a game you
never played. I can’t decide if remembering
our distances draws you closer or
outlines your absence.
Maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe tangled
thinking is perfect, as daughter playing
mother, I learned the endless practice
of pulling apart your knots, trying to unravel
what I’d done or didn’t do to upset you
again. Now I bury the offered bones
beneath the front porch. The soil, never
touched by rain or sun, a silky sand,
transparent as the love songs you sang
alone in the kitchen every Sunday when
you thought no one was listening.
Jennifer Mills Kerr is an educator, poet, and writer who loves mild winters, anything Jane Austen, and the raucous coast of Northern California. Connect with Jennifer through her Substack, Poetry Inspired or say hello at her website.
‘maybe tangled thinking is perfect …….the endless practice of pulling apart your knots…’ You say so much with this wonderful imagery!
ReplyDeleteThank you 💜
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