Just Another Poem

One of my favorite Ernest Hemingway quotes is "Write hard and clear about what hurts." It is quite the question to ponder considering the state of the world that we live in, what doesn't hurt. At this point, we can sum all the pain into one common denominator. Existence. 

I wrote another poem: The Audacity of Dresses

When she passed they took what was gold,

Records, furniture, jewelry, treasures untold. 

But I, with a different desire in my soul,

Chose the path of sentiment, for it was memories I longed to hold. 

My treasures still carry her scent, her esscencec divine,

For our bond, our connection, was a love sublime. 

These dresses, they are all I have left,

Of her memory, my angel, whom I don’t want to forget. 

Anger and sadness fill my heart’s core

For the lack of understanding is a pain I have always endured. 

They ask for them with no thought,

To cut them up, distribute them, but not for memories sought. 

I want to stand strong to protect what is mine

But I know they will belittle me, call me selfish until I say “FINE!”

I hold them close, I want to keep them near,

For they bring me solace, they’ve wiped away tears. 

In this poem, my emotions unfold

Expressing the audacity, of a request so bold. 

The things unsaid about this tale run deep,

Of how my grandmother’s love saved me, of the secret we keep. 

They, that turned a blind eye and dismissed my cries,

They, that threw me away, as if I was too damaged, no longer a prize. 

They ask me for what little I have left, with no regard

But these dresses hold the untold story of my grandmother’s loving guard. 

In those cherished dresses, she held me tight,

Protecting me from darkness, until morning light. 

They absorbed my tears, my pain, my fears. 

A shield of love, throughout my early years

I hold them close, these dresses are so dear,

For they carry the strength and the only love that has ever been crystal clear. 

In the depths of my heart, anger burns bright,

For my mother’s audacity is such a painful plight.