Climb out of the Pacific Ocean, where fake islands crown a shore, and a dead boat floats bloated in the distance. Walk four blocks away from the waves.
Ask any of my nieces. They’ll open their hands, read their palms, find me in a wrinkle that roots to their heart lines.
Blindfold my mother and tell her I am hungry. Fill her hands with parathas and follow her, follow her.
Tell the moon you’re searching. She knows where all the widows are.
Come back here: this space where I know I can find you.
I would never stray for long.
rarasaur 
This: “Tell the moon you’re searching. She knows where all the widows are.”
Few can write the way you do! There is often that line that hits and makes time stop as I read.
I hope you are having a good day, sending hugs!
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Thank you, that’s so kind. *hugs* Today is great here. Hope yours is lovely, too. 🙂
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I like your poem. Thank you. 🙂
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Thank you for reading it 🙂
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This is such a delightful post, Ra.
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🌈💜🙏💜🌈
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