Poetry · Writing

december a few years ago;

it was just a gesture

something simple;

but i hold it like a widow holds their child

something;

irreplaceable.

i wonder

what me now

would tell

a me

not ready to hear about the future.

at that time

the single grain of rice

had the weight of the world,

steamed

and afraid of loss.

i’d tell him

i think i’d tell him

you’re right

this loss,

won’t feel like another

because it was real.

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