Sometimes, instead of skies
I look at ceilings
And instead of your eyes
I look at the palm of my hands
And with the flicker of my tears
My vision shakes with lights
Sometimes instead of water
I’m drinking wine
And instead of writing sentences on paper
I’m transfixed on letters of the words h o m e
m o t h e r
f a t h e r
b r o t h e r
l o v e
w o r k
t i m e
d e a t h
And as the space between the letters expands
As my blood flows loudly in my veins
the weight of my body surrounds to space
And the room gets bigger, then smaller, then none
I practice
I have practiced to think about moments not miles
And to remember details of all your smiles
And to be happy about being sad
I have learnt
To let my hair grow grey
And for you to make mistakes
And for me to say I’m sorry
And for us to be apart but never still, or small, or dying
I’ve learnt for us to live within each other
And for me to remind you:
skies are above all the ceilings.
t.a