Of course they are empty shells, without hope of animation.
Of course they are artifacts.
Even if my sister and I should wear some,
or if we give others away,
they will always be your clothes without you,
as we will always be your daughters without you.
3 thoughts on “A short poem about loss”
Yes, that is the way you feel, a nice poem.
my sister’s kimono hangs by my bed
she fits perfectly into my dreams
endless yards of silkscreen blossoms
we roll around frantically, wound up tight
heave and tug with the undertow,
there will never be enough.
Lovely, Simone. I feel it.
Oh, good. I love that you can feel it.