Sticks and Stones
Words and Bones
Once hurled, they dig sharp
Roots under our skin, branching
Into veins of memory –
Pulse of our inner lives.
We walk wounded,
Scarred beneath the skin.
When I hear of another suicide:
I remember my mother’s plans shared at the kitchen table after school – so many ways to die.
I remember the man standing on top of the bridge –
Taking his last step.
I remember her. My mentor. My inspiration. My first and last idol.
How do we live with these?
How do we simply be?
We cling to faith.
That is all.
Tyrean Martinson “writes for her old self – the child who found refuge in the library, in her favorite climbing tree, and on her bicycle. She just keeps writing, and will always. It’s in her bones.”
