My past glimmers.
Like spikes of metal, bent by hammers.
My crooked past prods me into the present.
So I may forget those that I used to resent.
I remember my family’s last smiles.
I would see them again, but not for a while.
I thought I would become a monstrous memory of theirs.
I try to hold onto them by a hair.
That is cut by shards of reality.
As I lose all sense of causality.
Copyright © Angelica Tao | Year Posted 2021
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