Flakes, chips; hollowed out
scraps—skeletons of bone.
The marrow:
Intricate webs of fragility.
There is no substance to these fragments, just
solidified air.
A fanciful network of what once was.
My grandmother, Nana,
Is not represented here. She was
earth, stone and the cool clear water
running through.
My anchor, my strength, the core
of my being. Burned, crushed,
emptied out.
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