the smell of lemon and honeysuckle
is overbearing in this home
built from dark woods
and fresh fire, soft light.
a cat skitters along the dark
floor (marbled? tiled? i’m unsure).
i ache and my bones do too.
desperate to hear wicked
laughter of a witch,
the place is that of a mother
who loves any (unloved)
as she lets them rest
their head on a table made for two
that sits five instead.
i cannot help but caress the wood
top with my blue, swelling hands.
i regret loving this space
but not the love i feel for those
who reside in it. that’s magic to me.
magic, is finally being guilt free
for being alive and loving
an explosion sets off in the room
hidden behind the stairs. reckless
laughter bubbles from a boy
i’ll never be able to love
though i often wish i had (could).
i cannot stop myself from crying
because tonight, i do not feel
this place is not a place but
a manifestation of forbidden love.
to want a mother that isn’t your own
and finally finding one,
then losing her just the same.
i want to scream
without being told to stop.
i want to be able to forgive myself
when you never could.
etch this into my grave,
for my mother and i,