Raindrops | Poetry

spring time for my heart

a throbbing memory,
a list of lost homes,
a street full of people i know
those i now call strangers -
there's so much loss
sown in my bones;
roots deepening,
branches spreading like
lonely arms in search of someone to hold them,
leaves refusing to turn yellow yet withering.
my body finds it so hard to move on.
an old tv set, in black and white,
to eyes that have technicolour dreams;
withering flowers my mother sent me before she left;
an album of polaroids of a time so sweet
melting into each other like watercolours;
my mind clogged with things i should have let go.
a happy place or just a habit, o heart?

forgiving and forgetting
doesn't come in poetry,
not wrapped in glittering papers.
it comes slow like
the first flower of spring
after a hurting winter.
it is cold for now,
but trust me,
the spring's no far.

Author's note:
I'm learning how to turn my hurt into my art.