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Dear Ma,

The fire touches my bare bones filled with dread ,
As if I am a lonesome canoe wandering across the Atlantic ,
But my mind remains hazy
Like the world outside when I peak through the little hole in my canvas
From where even the stars fail to shine through
How would I?
But I grasp for the sequoia-breathed quilt grandma gave me , when I passed high school,
With crawling colours, Like the shades of gray
But Dad’s gray eyes always flickered with felicity
So I remain uncertain on my assumptions
Like I do while I hide under the blood soaking Earth
From the glinting wicked , hoar tempest
That reminds me of your hair and the way your comb struggled through them
As you sang like the lake I learnt to swim in
With Greta, whose face I don’t remember anymore
But her perfect braid and her perfect holiday plans
Have you taken any of those since I left?
Or does the airplane still scare you ?
Don’t tell Dad but I get scared of heights myself sometimes
And my blood curdles as they clamour up pointy hills,
Zipping and hissing their perilous swords ,
Ready to tug death closer and closer
And Oh Ma! Closer and closer it comes,
Says the stout man on the telephone,
Maybe about the inching scorpion on the windowsill or
His day of divorce,
Or what you and I know is .