For Amelia
The matriarch died in a flooding
of the world; she ruled
hearts and faces into
sunbeams,
molded the consciousness of children
in her disappointment,
fixed tears under shy smiles
with the smell from her blouse
as they buried faces
into it.
A child calls out, “I
can’t breathe” and we know
the psalm of her heart washes over
engorged banks of rivers,
night merging
lost dreams of others,
collecting its own story on the journey.
Release,
and again into the torrents
of blackness,
fireflies light the way
over muddy waters.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Counterexample Poetics 12/09
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