the collision between life and death.
forward, backward, back and forth
humming beneath her small voice
with the weak force of breath she had been
saving forever for her last exhale.
she sang a song of blues that resonated
and radiated throughout the atmosphere
where her body was placed.
she sang words, sweetly and softly
asking where the happiness and the joy
resided in the poems of her deceased daughter.
her head hung low , she questioned again and again.
wondering why her poems were splashed with colors of
grey and blue and black and midnight. she never knew
that was all she knew and happiness never rekindled
with her because happiness couldn't stand her.
old lady struggled to rise out of rocking chair,
she stumbled, and tripped over her foot hitting her
head on the wooden porch that held her steadily for
years that followed months that followed days that
she knew would take her place because her daughter
was ready to see her face - she hid herself inside the
sweet and soft tunes her mother sang filled with the same blues
she used for the poems that had been abused
by lovers that read them and stole her joy.
now together, they sing and write melodies of blues
contrasting the yellows they thought they'd never
get in contact with - now together, they sing and
write melodies of yellows that they never thought
they'd speak, because together they create a space
of harmony.
