Humanbeingful | A Poem

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She tells my mother

that your feet are shattered

in a way that is supposed to comfort her

our mother,

because the upper body still looks alright.

*

She tells my sister

that she can’t see you yet

as if she could take it,

as if frowned upon,

as if a child asked for some candy,

and in the most casual way

she says that you’re still soaked in blood,

they need to clean you first.

*

was there

ever

a

good

time to

see

you

like

that?

*

how

many

people

walked

past

your

bag

as

you

lay

crushed

in

the

valley?

*

They carried your leather bag

your mints, your bus pass, your headphones

that’s sign language

that’s when she knew

that’s when they left her on the kitchen floor

as if they had just dropped off some homework before lunch.

*

Is this too hard to read?

If

I

don’t

write

it

out

I’ll

b u r s t.

*

I know that you feel released now.

The end of the human form.

You’re free.

You rid yourself of human emotions.

And I feel like I am overdosed.

Humanbeingful.

Photo by gaspar zaldo on Pexels.com

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