The Lost Grammar Of Scars

Poetry by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

On the breadth of twilight
I add up the clouds,
the solar eclipse above me,
giant enough to darken
the sky; and, as always,
my soul keeps tugging
away from my bones
and the lost grammar
of scars across my
knuckles and wrist.
Memories like heavy
beasts from my past
turn themselves over in
my mind, fragments from
childhood unreadable as
waves. Now time slowly
reassembles itself before
it’s all gone and I sleep
reaching back to my
synapse of inner light
till the sun ignites the

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