Red lines

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


I wrote this while sitting with my mom as she underwent dialysis. I was moved as I watched the blood who's DNA I share move from her to the machine. In that moment I reflected on our life and our
connection.

Submitted: August 16, 2018

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Submitted: August 16, 2018

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The substance of these red lines is absence.

Lost is the fluid that connects, protects, and respects

All that remains is a solution full of disillusion, loss, and despair

These red lines cross the room from her to a machine designed to clean, detox, and purify

No matter the dilution of the solution these red lines remain tainted with a long history of hurt and pain

I watch as these red lines go into the machine and still come out unclean

These red lines were suppose to teach me about love, trust, and how to be a woman

They were supposed to be my safe place

Insted these red lines passed on the genetics of guilt the sequence of blame and disdain

No need was ever recognised as valid, no I love yous, no bedtime stories

Just the sound of her giving it up to a guy from down the street as I lay a few inches from her feet

These red lines beat and cursed me for ruining her life

Manipulated and used me, pilfering all that they could

I feel strangled by these red lines as I watch them flow in and out of the cleaning machine

Yet here I sit conversing, wishing her pain was less, that her heart had to deal with less stress

Knowing and accepting that there will never be a day when these red lines will bind or build to true love.


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