Part II: Pieces of Her

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I thought I’d share some original poetry. Over the past few weeks I’ve been traveling throughout Miami, attending open mic nights to listen to live spoken word performances, in hopes to gain any inspiration that I can. To be honest, it’s always a bit nerve wracking to share original poetry, but ultimately I write poetry in hopes of sharing it, as opposed to simply leaving it closed in my notebook. You can also listen to me reciting this poem by clicking on the audio file above. Hope you enjoy.

Sweater

For years I hide your sweater,

about fourteen in fact,

it hides under a clutter

of running t-shirts,

old blankets,

in my bedroom drawer.

To be honest, whenever

I see it, I tend to

shudder, shudder, and shudder,

 as if, my insides,

made of clay,

suddenly shatter.

It looks how I remember, so ordinary, yet

too ordinary, my fears

serve as nostalgia,

cancer days,

her and that sweater.

Weird, I’m bewildered, never

in my wildest dreams

 did I think I would studder

when I try to speak

of one thing

in my bedroom drawer.

Do I dare try and whisper?

Is it sacreligious

to idolize you, mother,

through just an object,

trapped in

my heart, forever?

Or can I hold on longer?

Any desperate attempt

to cling on, like a spider

as it strings its web

for dear life,

tighter and tighter.

If things tell time, I wonder,

why is it that tools rust,

pieces of silver weather,

pant legs rip and tear,

ash and dust

rise and fall together.

But damn, my mom’s old sweater —

tucked and locked away,

defies some act of nature,

 inexplicable.

The heavens

are protecting her.

They must be,

protecting her.

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