I Folded My Mother Up

I Folded My Mother Up I folded my mother up Into a creased peace of paper Folding memories into intentions. Flattening the dementia of unstructured emotions Into a neat, file-able document. We arc this abyss; tightening ropes over time. We are not our worst intentions, but we are the acts that follow. Like clobbering footsteps tripping over broken pavements of Being. We are the not sum of our categories or the crimes that we have witnessed But we are the balance That keeps us falling forwards without stumbling Over our own shoelace sense of time.