morska

i recently lost a poem about the
process of losing my grandmother.
the slow tidal gravity that drew me
away from her had me scrambling to 
identify memories of no fixed
address. ironically the faded forms
i could postmark were scribbled on
brightly hued post-its; colour coded
culture schemes with names like rio
de janeiro, bali, helsinki, bora
bora, and marrakesh somehow were not
vivid enough beacons amongst my desk
top miscellany to highlight the
earnest dignity of my own polish
heritage.

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