the marigolds speak








the marigolds speak child stories
  132
  •  
  0
  •   14 comments
Share

in
in Destination, permanent vacation. ^^
Autoplay OFF   •   12 days ago
A short poem I wrote about child loss. Thank you for reading. <3

the marigolds speak

There's a struggle when you're writing about something you haven't experienced, especially something like child loss. But I think it's an important lesson in empathy and I hope this feels genuine. That was my biggest worry.

Sometimes,

Sometimes, when the air nudges me,

Sometimes, when the air nudges me, I tip-toe to the metal gates,

Sometimes, when the air nudges me, I tip-toe to the metal gates, place

Sometimes, when the air nudges me, I tip-toe to the metal gates, place the cool flesh of my palms

Sometimes, when the air nudges me, I tip-toe to the metal gates, place the cool flesh of my palms against the barrier and push,

Sometimes, when the air nudges me, I tip-toe to the metal gates, place the cool flesh of my palms against the barrier and push, hoping

Sometimes, when the air nudges me, I tip-toe to the metal gates, place the cool flesh of my palms against the barrier and push, hoping that I am anywhere but here,

that my feet haven't carried me

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land where the light is still pink

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land where the light is still pink and the only tears are a lost

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land where the light is still pink and the only tears are a lost lunchbox or cold hands

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land where the light is still pink and the only tears are a lost lunchbox or cold hands when gloves slip your mind,

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land where the light is still pink and the only tears are a lost lunchbox or cold hands when gloves slip your mind, where marigolds don't look dashing

that my feet haven't carried me into a no-man's land where the light is still pink and the only tears are a lost lunchbox or cold hands when gloves slip your mind, where marigolds don't look dashing against cold mahogany.

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me why I reach through the gaps

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me why I reach through the gaps and stretch my hand,

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me why I reach through the gaps and stretch my hand, curling my fingers like

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me why I reach through the gaps and stretch my hand, curling my fingers like I'm trying to touch the air

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me why I reach through the gaps and stretch my hand, curling my fingers like I'm trying to touch the air or caress a cheek,

Sometimes, when the teacher asks me why I reach through the gaps and stretch my hand, curling my fingers like I'm trying to touch the air or caress a cheek, I reply.

"I thought that I was

"I thought that I was at the gates of heaven."

"I thought that I was at the gates of heaven." "I'm waiting for my love to arrive."

It is only when doves,

It is only when doves, dozens

It is only when doves, dozens rejoice around me

It is only when doves, dozens rejoice around me and the marigolds speak.

It is only when doves, dozens rejoice around me and the marigolds speak. I am reminded.

It is only when doves, dozens rejoice around me and the marigolds speak. I am reminded. I'm waiting for a child

It is only when doves, dozens rejoice around me and the marigolds speak. I am reminded. I'm waiting for a child who has already gone home.

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store
COMMENTS (14)
SHOUTOUTS (0)