the good ones die


i wish i could recall the pulsing safety
of my mother’s red, warm womb
that sacred burrow i curled where all i heard
was the watery song of her galloping heart
& the indistinct voice of my uncertain future
where she’d forget i ever lived within her
where i was wove to bone & flesh
& therefore have known her like
no other ever will
where she could not turn her back on me
as she did in life, because she wore me
in the front; a living fragment of her
until it came time i breathe on my own
& since then i’ve always breathed

how did it feel to be carried
in strong arms born on
or near halloween?
to be kissed while i slept
by the bags of blood-blue eyes?
to be ignorant of the
cold, hard truths of life?

before life scrubbed them from my skin
erased them from my spine & eyes
replaced them with fire
& darkness, so that i’d know that
bad memories burn & the good ones die
i wish i had my last memories of peace

words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.

19 thoughts on “the good ones die

  1. To me, this is the most powerful work of yours I’ve read so far. There is a lot of raw hard emotion here but you write with such discipline that your words come across with authority and authenticity.

  2. “bad memories burn & the good ones die”

    Makes me certain that the world is something sinister, using our bad ones to burn for fuel perpetuating more and more of these awful regrets, dark hours, injustices. And our good ones are thrown out to dissolve into nothing. “Husband,” I asked the other day, “Did you get down on your knee when you proposed to me?”
    “You don’t remember?” he answered.


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