Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘mother’

Lymph Nodes, Liver Lesions and My Mother

As the doctor exits the exam room she reaches for my hand. I pull her entire body onto my lap as she continues to stare at the Gastrointestinal Diagram like it’s a map of the stars, searching for constellations, seeing only organs, glands and tissues. “Do I need my liver to live?” I stare at her, feel her sit bones press into my quivering quads, her hands interlocking around my […]

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Cipher’s Montage

There were two jars that Alice’s mother had hidden in the bookshelf behind four thick books, whose covers were slowly letting go of their edges to orange peeled nostalgia. Whenever Alice received a word she put it inside one of the jars. As if they were tiny specks of wind caught by the mirror. She never knew what it meant to be her, she was only them. Her grieving eyes, […]

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