Eileen

Eileen

An open letter to my husband’s mother, who was taken from us too soon. Eileen, You’ve never met me. My name is cici, And I’m marrying your son. I want to say thank you. You created My perfect person, My other half, My missing piece. It’s because of you That he exists And that he is the man I know and love. I see your kindness in him, Your gentleness, And giving nature. I picture you Only with the big smile I’ve seen in your photos. We are far away, But I feel close to you. I want you to know The reverence I feel For you and your family. I’ve never been so accepted And treated so wonderfully In all my life. Relationships are complicated But ours is quite simple, really. I am beyond grateful For your impact In all of our lives...

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Six

Six

It makes it impossible to forget- That one day You have to address it. There is no positive spin. It’s making an effort- Wearing her dress And her emeralds And washing your hair In the middle of the week [Although you never do that.] It’s people who know Saying they’re thinking of you And facebook posts And memories And old photographs And maybe tiramisu. And probably tears. It’s the day The world ended But also Kept turning, Which is still baffling. The sun stayed put And the earth kept spinning But you can remember The day it stood still. But also it’s every day. It’s every day I see her picture, Wear her ring- Especially the days I never say her name. Melissa Is her name. Mommah. I miss you. It’s been six...

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Pictures

Pictures

The following is just a quick little poem dedicated to my partner, Si. I am reaping the benefits of his secret photography during our time apart.   He likes to take pictures. He has one of those Fancy cameras With the lenses You can take on and off. He takes pictures When people aren’t looking All people, Strangers and friends alike. Rarely, they catch him, And he looks away. I take pictures Of him taking pictures All of it, In secret. I show him later Or not at all, Keeping the memories for myself, Like the faces he makes When he thinks no one’s watching. He takes pictures Of me, sometimes, When I ask him to, Like when we travel. I used to hide from the lens But now I try to see myself Through his eyes. He makes albums Of his pictures, His people-watching...

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Trustworthy

Trustworthy

Maybe it’s an age thing Or a woman thing Or an addict thing But it’s a ludicrous thing To not know Your own mind Or to lack confidence In your opinions. I’m always Looking over my shoulder. Always asking What someone else wants, Or feels, or needs, Or double checking That I’m not bothering them To the point that I’m sure I am. I’m conscious of The way I eat: How and what and when. I worry about taking up space- How close my chair is to the table, I cross my legs on the metro, I avoid an occupied kitchen, Offer to sit in the back of the car, Even curl into a ball in my own bed. Where do I want to go? Anywhere is fine. Am I hungry? I don’t know- are you? I want to contribute without pressure, I want to help without demand. I concern myself with the needs of others,...

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Mommah

Mommah

Merry christmas, mommah. I don’t know How I’ve come this far Without you. Some might say It’s a tribute To my strength But I’m not so sure. More than anything, I think It’s a tribute to yours. I have an unwillingness To admit defeat Because of you. Because of What you taught me. Taught us. I’m willing to put aside My fear of failure For the possibility Of success. We all thought You had so much longer, So much more time On this earth. We were wrong. I am angry, I am still so angry, Because of what the world lost When you left it. I remember saying goodbye To you, When I walked in your bedroom, And saw your small face, Your frail body, Under that white sheet. I remember the moment That the anticipation ended And I was forced to accept That you were gone. I...

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