Trinkets

I hear a familiar clink the sound of my grandmother’s bangles falling against each other 

Although subtle, I could not do without ever hearing them again 

For what else could evoke happiness lost, yet its memory, a comfort? 

Hopes I carry are not mine alone we share those distant stars. 

When I venture out into the desert she will be my oasis. 

When I look into the blemished city sky, 

I barely find Orion and Sirius. 

She knows I must soar above, to see the night in its bare magnificence, 

she knows I must leave. 

To understand abandonment, is a bittersweet affair. 

You will try the hardest to never trust again 

and learn to hold those you do at the closest. 

She holds me close in the blaze, 

enough to feel its warmth but far enough to never feel its rage. 

Like all imperfect conviction, 

splinters from the fire occasionally splatter on my cheeks, 

and the fire in me awakens in retaliation.