Daseinsberechtigung | a poem about grief

I wish you would have had language for love

I stopped begging as a child

you had torn yourself into a withdrawn figure

in an outside world other than my own

and I – your daughter – an ever-unfinished attempt

to live

have been nothing but an ending to you

as soon as flesh found my bones

your face on top of mine

you cut yourself off

and I was a wound in myself

an aching silhouette

of your overfed ghosts

scarlet red loose thread

and exposed

to your rejection