The Taste of Emeralds

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

Submitted: February 06, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 06, 2018



My mother died today.


The color green lost all meaning today. 

I walked around the neighborhood in search of something to hold on to, 

something that would anchor my soul,

something to prevent it from escaping the body. 

Yet nothing came my way. 

I went to the same cafe her and I used to go to. 

I bought her favorite drink and sat by the window. 

I watched the passersby riding the tide of time. I watched the tide washing away all that I despised and held dear, leaving me behind on the desolate shore. 

I had a sip of her favorite drink. 

I needed to taste her existence. 

I needed to capture her wandering spirit. 

But I soon realized that her soul was out of reach. 

I kissed the rim of her cup, but her skin was out of reach. 

I longed to hold her hand but her fingers were out of reach. 

Her drink tasted like fading memories. 

The flames of bygone days flickered in my eyes as I took a sip or two, 

and in those flames I saw her, my mother, bathing a child and washing the world’s filth off his skin. 

I saw her lips move and follow the words to a lullaby. 

I saw her mouth contort and twist and form odd oohs and aahs, 

and I saw the child stare into her green eyes in amusement and awe. 

Then the flames faded and I had nothing. 

Was left with nothing. 


The hole in my chest brimmed with nothing. 

I tried to cry. 

I stabbed myself in the arm and saw the blood stream forth through the opening. 

Yet all feeling had faded. I had nothing left to cry or bleed for. 

I left her drink on the counter, holding on to the vain hope that one day she would return and finish it. 

I then exited the cafe and never looked back. 



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