“If winter calls should I answer?” mother had asked.
Her words such as peeled back bark.
Earthy and sublime, a slow pouring wine.
The volume of her sentences were never said…in moderation.
It is four in the morning and I am awoken to hanging on.
What ground had just been broken?
How many more sleepless black and white moments, sullen and justified, would this go on?
Ashen, Irish, ashes all that was left in the morning.
When memories woke up.