“So, do you have any siblings?”
A innocent question
Which cuts like a knife.
I panic.
“No.”
“Oh, so you’re an only child?
How was that?”
My heart races.
I make up something
And quickly change the subject.
The guilt of this interaction
Weighs on me for weeks.
Why was I not brave enough?
To claim him, share his story?
After all the people I’ve met
Since he left seven years ago-
Somehow this question
Still does that to me.
Grief is a changeling .
A teacher, a wrecking ball, a friend.
There will always be moments
That shake me to my core.
My prayer is they will guide me
Towards a deeper love.
Tag: poetry
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I saw a picture of me
From 7 years ago
A tiny wisp of a thing
Like a strong wind might
Knock me right over.
I took a lot of stock
In that type of thing
Back then.
The less space I took up,
The better.
Now I’ve got pounds
From each of my babies
Clinging to my bones.
My hips, breasts, skin stretched
To accommodate them.
There are days
I relish past memories.
That look, energy, freedom.
Then I remember the miracle
God did with my body
To create this family.
Whatever I thought
Back then
Is but a whisper
Compared to what is now. -
Hershey’s kiss
Unravels perfectly
Intense sweet as it hits the tongue
Making your mouth pucker
A mid-day treat
Turns to nostalgia
Slowly melting into
A tidal wave of holiday memories
Christmas stockings
Easter baskets
Halloween buckets
Sprinkled in
Almost an afterthought.
But your father says
No fancy chocolate can beat it.
The wrapper crackles between your fingers
You remember
It was a nice little missile
To flick at your brother.
Some things transcend
The test of time. -
Homesick
It’s a feeling
In your guts
A deep rooted tug
Your roots call out
From a T-shirt which simply says
“You had me at biscuits.”
A bluegrass song
In the background
Of a store trying far too hard
To be hip.
Someone posts a photo
Of March flowers growing wild.
A TV show features
A little soul food joint
You could walk to
Back in college.
Don’t get me wrong
I’m not ashamed of where I am
Or how I got here.
It can also be true
That I miss
Where I’m from.
With its y’all’s & yes ma’am’s
Bourbon & heat & country ham
My family
Friends who knew
The first version of me.
It’s a messy thing
To move away.
Kacie B. Sharpe 