This poem is for your bones, those cramped calcified frames waiting to unfurl. This poem is for your words unspoken, those we repent for not having heard, those we wish we could still hear. This poem is for the kaleidoscope of your eyes, those revolving hues of browns and greens and blues, those nearsighted retinas oblivious to the blurred distance, those irises slamming down the windows to the light. This poem is also for me.
Reflections on language, learning, and loss in paltry poetry and prose