crisscross

You walk barefoot, on the clipped grass, 
The hedges loom over us
harboring me from the thundering sky.
An imprint on the ground, a shadow where the flowers lie.
And there they are.

It's arms encircle me. The same arms that my mother, my uncle, my aunt; the same arms that embraced them. They climbed the tree, knew it's roots, traced the leaves, years before me.

The smell of red wine lingered around the dark halls of Shafling Manor. Next to the fire, stood my boss. To be specific, bosses. But there was only one head of the household in everyone's mind.

Eternal ties, spun by gold.
Generations change how our story’s told.
Wedding vows and decorations
Bassinets and true patience.
There are so many of you

Surnames and blood don’t connect us all,
But all our memories pile tall.

AIR.
Beating breaths, 
Out of the fogged city
Or the hills of the country
It gives us air.

A tree, gives
Happily coughing up  
Everything escaping our lips.
And we walk right by.

Where would we be

Every word, every phrase, 
Every comment, every praise
Every single quiet trace of my pen.
Letters bleed out, arranging themselves on the page,
My mind has left with it.
Writing comes to me.