Truth is, I am always imagining her alive

Day 1 of 31 days of poetry

Grace Moore


Photo by Michael on Unsplash

my grandmother,
the only one who understood
what it was to not crave a settled existence

Truth is, I think we had the same heart,
the same base code
the ever-restless roaming
the ever-thirsty drinking salt water
the never-ever satisfied
trying to fit our fluttering hearts
into more suitable cages

Truth is, I think that’s why she moved so often
that home was never really home,
why she was always finding faults sooner or later,

and why she told me to enjoy being single
as long as I could
I loved your grandpa, but sometimes I wish
I had waited longer to marry.

and why she was always going somewhere
money flowing through her fingers
like that could ever fill the call for more, more.

Truth is, maybe I imagine her alive
in a kinder light than she deserves

Truth is
she did not care who was hurt by her wanting.

And the truth is,
I fear the want that ruins
so I pack mine away carefully
and I have for years, in a box marked
do not open
and I imagine her alive
and what she would have to say about that

Grace Moore is a writer of poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. Her interests include travel, reading, and doing any activity that involves supplies from the craft store. She lives in Washington with her husband, where they can often be found discussing Doctor Who in-depth. She’s passionate about helping writers find their motivation and unlock their creativity. Follow her on Instagram, sign up for her newsletter, and support her on Ko-fi.

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Grace Moore

Learning to do this writer thing and sharing as I go. Poetry, CNF, mental health, and too many other interests. Support: