The Same Space

different things come out
in times like these,
shadow bodies are shaken
from our penned-in roll
of birth and death columns
in family bibles, passed down

it's in times like these
you learn the shape of your lineage
and the scars of its silence

and it's in the time after,
you briefly re-learn
a new concept of time
through the old woman, adeptly
tending the stove
while the cut-short life
of the girl she was
burns quietly forever at her center

proving that two objects, truly can
occupy the same space,
can be both alive and dead
at the same time

and you'll re-map your roots
and faith
like switchboard memories,
re-plant your dreams
in whatever field of away
will take you,
yet somehow, the hymnal's dirge
still finds you, broken as the day
you broke the news

you learn, in times like these
how the cycle repeats,
how the illusion
of support and safety
so quickly fades
in this pivotal moment
when the hinge of family breaks

and the dress at the stove
just keeps stirring,
her guilt whispers
how it wasn't his fault
-not her boy-
how he doesn't remember
and has truly found jesus- again

over the years, you'll learn
to soften her betrayal
with your common wound,
a shared sorrow
and bitter mercy, knowing
how an empty dress
can hang forever, floating
like it's full