That I am not loins,
not even what connected they make up.
I am a collection of thoughts,
bound by values and love,
that, unwrapped, spill out and
into other lives, mixed and swirling,
Cease, these limbs, but
not my soul.
It is the beginning of my life,
and not the end.
It is the beginning,
where I spread out in veins of
that have infected those people I love,
and even those
who have despised me.
It is those things that I have changed in them
where I live on.
This is my immortality.
That what I
becomes a part of so many living things,
and will continue across lives like a ripple,
and, boundless, yet another.
It is there in those ripples that I live on,
my energy magnified and alive
my essence still vital and alive.
These are my circles.
These are my hundreds of lives.
— susan southern-braiden.
ABOUT THE POEM …
After a six year journey with cancer, my mother finally left us.
I was devastated.
Writing is the only way I know to process the overwhelming feelings and thoughts that wash over you when you lose someone who was such a good part of your life.
While my mother’s body may be gone, her presence is not. I talk to her all the time. I ask her to help me sort through my grief, to sift through the rubble and find the things that are meant to stick, to resonate, to lead on.
This was my mother’s answer.
( ( ( more of my poetry here … ) ) )