Amalie@kua

Silence spreads. 

It blankets churning mouths like grazing cows come frost.

Never has the silence echoed so. 

Can it be nothing more than new life?

Bounding through marshes

And clover 

And buttercup

And moss

And underneath that moss

Death

Will we ever stop

Forming gaps for young children to fall through,

Teetering on the edge–          –swinging their legs. 

My grandmother's body slowly shifts into the rock, weaving into the dead texture. Eyes faded and grey, seeing more than I will ever know, and yet nothing at all.

We stood at the entrance of a new age. 

Past a garden of all we had ever known,

We found the gate.  

Past what we were meant to know and created to be.

She wrote until her fingers carved groves in the silence and spoiled the blankness before. Then, she turned to each surface left unwrote and sang. The birch trees wept as she tore back the bark to reveal stories beneath.