Raspberries

The snowflakes caught in her eyelashes.  They seemed to make her eyes look sunken.  When had she become so frail?
Her spindly arms reached out for my own, and when I took her hand I felt how dappled her skin felt.
How long had it been?
Years.  Many years.
I remember running in her backyard.  I use that term loosely.  She had this little cottage-- very homey.  Quilts everywhere.  Cats.  And the smell... of contentment.  It was a well lived in home.
But the home itself was not the cottage, it was the garden-- or yard.
Filled with fresh strawberries, watermelon, apple trees, vegetables such as cucumbers, lettuce, turnips, onions.  It was endless.  But there was one favourite. The raspberries.
She would come out with us, and we would pick basket fulls.  Eat them while we were picking.  Then we would make jams with some of it, but eat most of them with a bit of cream.
If there is a heaven, this would be my own.  She was so quiet but soulful.  She always seemed to look old.  I know that sounds bad, but what I mean is she looked old at sixty and she looked old at seventy.  She was just ageing not so... gracefully.
She started having problems as we grew.  Harder to walk.  Harder to think.  Harder to remember.
For years... I had not seen her.
I heard stories of how racist she was.  How she had a foul mouth.  But every time I spoke to her, or listened to her, it was like honey.
Sweet, sincere.
My mum started telling me she was ill.  Every time she was mentioned I thought I was going to be told she had passed.
This went on for a few years.
She moved in with my grandma.  She was cared for.  But she slowly got worse.  See, when people lose their memory they can become easily frightened or confused.
She would get severely confused and that came with severe anger.
She was moved to a home.
I visited her.
I visited her five times.
The first time I remember seeing her with tears in my eyes.  She didn't say my name once.  I brought up my brother but she just nodded and smiled.  I knew she didn't know.
The second time we walked around.  She was calling me my brother's name.
The third time was short.  She was severely confused.  I barely got to tell her I loved her.
The fourth time she was quite tired.  She lay in bed while I read.
The fifth time, I walked in, knowing this would be the last time I visited.  I didn't want to feel heartbroken every time I left.  I didn't want to see her anymore.
I walked into the room and her eyes brightened as she exclaimed my name clearly, hugged me, and told me she loved me so much.  How much I had grown.  How beautiful I was.  She asked how my brother was, and we were able to speak.  I saw her drifting away, so I told her I loved her and we embraced.  Then I walked back to the car with my mum and as she drove I felt cold tears fall from my face in silence.
A month or so passed.
So had she.
I didn't cry.
I haven't cried yet.
Even writing it, I feel them in the back of my eyes.
I don't feel heartless-- I did at first.
But, maybe I am not crying because she is willing me not to.
Because we are still picking raspberries.
Because I'm still a five year old little girl, naive with what is to come and what has happened.
Because the snowflakes that fell in her eyes were not in fact snow, but ashes from the fires we had.
Because the snowflakes were just my imagination, just like many other day dreams have been.
And it is okay if you don't understand what I am talking about, because I do.
I still feel her soft skin.
I see her bright blue veins.
I see how spindly she is.
I see how loving she was.
I see red.
I see raspberries.

Unearthly World that is

I want to dip my hands in a river of stars
and pull them up through my fingers.
Watch as the black liquid drips with tiny suns
while the millions of supernovas linger.
I want to soar in a sky of sea creatures
and dance and twirl with the orca whales.
Breathe in the ocean whilst gripping my reality
but my mind being pulled like wind sails. .
I want to climb down into the depths of a cavern of light
and be consumed by the glittering crystals.
To feel my chest float with awe; ecstasy bound
as my heart becomes torn from a pistol.
I want to sing in the mountains while losing my breath
to feel the chilled air envelope my lungs.
And as I shut my eyes, I would feel the gentle kiss
from the snowflakes that perish so young.
I want to see through the rain to feel its pain
only to have it become my own.
I want to lift up the world, give it a twirl
to shake away the sadness, creating a home.
But more than that, I want to see the Earth smile
beaming like its Savior the sun.
To sense the ease it would bring, opening the sky
making this land feel like one.
But I can't do that.
And I know that.
It is most outrageous to think.
But it's not bad to hope.
And it's not bad to wish.
For this idea,
concept,
foundation;
it's a small step.
So small.
But so real.

Lucifer

Lucifer,
I wish I had spent my moments
when I was younger
praying for your pain
to dissipate into the fiery sea
that you know rule over
instead of praying
that my family would be alright.
Because I knew that eventually they would be
but you would suffer
for the rest of eternity.
I wonder if you cry
at night when people are dreaming
of their heaven
and I wonder if you
ever feel lonely in the
pit you were exiled to
and I wonder if the angels
who sided by you
ever felt like they weren't
the ones who were evil
but the ones who wanted
a change of their faith.
I wonder if you pray to
your father
trying to get him to speak to you
to tell him what you meant
and what you wanted
and how you love him
even though he threw you into his greatest creation;
Hell.
I wonder about all the people who pray to God
but never once decided to pray to the one being
who needs to be saved the most.
Not saved as in religion,
but saved from your emotions
and pain
and suffering that you go through
every moment
your lungs expand.
I wonder if you ever think about how your name means
Star.
How it's supposed to guide people through the night
and how it's a reflection of how someone sees them self.
I wonder if you ever say Star slowly
and let it linger on your tongue
because you were guiding
the angels
who wanted
change.
You were
standing up
for what
you believed
in
and
you
got
punched
for
thinking
so
differently.
I prayed to you last night.
I hope that you heard me.
For I said how strong you were
for pushing through
against your father's anger.
How you've held your own.
How you tried to do something taboo,
but when we revolt against the kings down here
they're called revolutions
and what you did was sin.
I prayed that you took a breath in
and felt pride that you went with your heart
passion
goals.
You went with who you were.
Are.
You're a Star, Lucifer.
You're a Star.