MargeretBurgenSwine
Grama was not a terribly expressive person. near the time of her death she started talking about butterflies. And now, whenever i see them and that blue blue sky, I know that deep down past my nearly athiest heart, I know she is still with me.
Round and full of life, swirling through each layer, thick meaty fruit, sweet nectar juice, hanging off the branch, surrounded with green foliage.
Contained. In one small vessel of violence. Each one silent as they exploded, time standing still. She was gone. I could hear nothing.
Somewhere along the line I was given this great gift. It was you. But since youve been gone-- nearly 10 years-- I have found myself living intandom with a replacement. A facsimile of you. Looks like you, thinks like you... But it is not you.
writing since 2017 · 4 entries · 4 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Margaret showed up.
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the words Margaret reaches for
nearlybluesomewherealonglinegreatgiftyouvelivingintandomreplacementfacsimilecontainedvesselviolencesilent