Stories begin on a new page.
Mine began at a slow pace.
One told of an old rusty vase;
The lilies that lived there died,
Buried without the son.
The union had no daughters
To mourn their passing.
Lost at sea, I held on to that branch.
Wouldn’t let go even when I was safe.
Faceless voices singing,
“Redeem thyself child.”
I lay half awake.
“I will,” I lied, but couldn’t will it.
Hands pledged to my heart didn’t stop the dull thumping.
Realization came faster than the new year.
From necessity comes a sole purpose
To keep my head afloat.
Wipe the crumbs off my plate.
And be a clean slate.