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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.

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