I FOLDED MY MOTHER UP
I folded my mother up
Into a creased peace of paper
I folded memories into intentions,
Flattening the dementia of unstructured emotions,
Into a neat, file-able document.
We arc this abyss; tightening ropes over time.
We are not our worst intentions,
but we are the acts that follow.
Like clobbering footsteps tripping
over broken pavements of Being.
We are not the sum of our categories
Nor the crimes that we have witnessed.
But we are the balance
That keeps us falling forwards without stumbling,
Over our own shoelace sense of time.
What do you think?