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And So
And so my brain prepared itself for a memory.
It knows how to now.
Instead of waiting for damage to remember along the lines, it just warned.
It warned of what was soon to come.
Death.
Of a grandparent.
Of a piece of gold embroidered into my veins.
A piece of gold that illuminates when the sight of its forebears struck their ever-present view.
Now worn as a ring.
Decorated upon another skin of their own.
Flesh finding its way along time in its own selfish yet amalgamatic way.
And so, here we are, and so we beat on.
Copyright ©
B. Joseph Fitzsimons
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