through the walls

it is a new kind of sadness

i carry with me,

like the overused plastic bags that have seen 

enough runs to the shops i so adamantly try to keep;

it is not heavyweight or bulky

but crunched up and sharp, slowly expanding with 

the weight i stretch it into each day.

it is a new kind of sadness

that finds me in bed, wide-eyed and struggling

with cold toes and incorrigible energies

sifting into the spaces of my centre,

catching me off guard.

it finds me calculating the meaning of happiness,

wondering where the equation went wrong in her mind,

where calculations are plenty but with illogical 

relative solutions.

it finds me listening through the cold plaster walls

to hear her yawn and remember

every distinct note and effort it takes

to be as tired as she is now.

it is a new kind of sadness

that finds me praying into the night sky,

for peace to fill her soul in a world too big for her

where some things cannot be possible.

it is the sadness that my tears can 

never truly explain and words become meaningless 

at the presence of knowing

a mother’s soul at peace

is hard to achieve as long as she is alive

and breathing into her cup of sorrows 

in the late of the night, clutching onto a demise 

that no chinese films or homemade meals

can distract her from.

i seek some rest 

in the soft of his shoulders,

in the reassurance of their words,

in the utmost reality where i am taught

to reach my happiness,

but there are too many hours in a day i have spent

thinking of her happiness

until it is mine,

therefore her sadness,

becomes mine,

but i do not have the strength to 

hold her life as mine to bear.

it is a new kind of sadness

i bring into a room full of comfort

in the walls with a sturdy door confining my tears within them;

a purple couch with a purple cushion i hold onto for dear life,

and a man who tells me

the sadness is not something i can

leave behind every Thursday afternoons, 

but it is something i make a part of me

and come to terms with.

to let go is to understand.

it is a new kind of sadness

that finds me understanding

the lack of shine in her forever eyes,

the sighs she lets out when she wakes

because her wishes for an endless sleep remain unanswered.

i understand the look she gives as she loses herself 

to the thoughts that live in shadows and comes out 

in the turn of the evening

because i too, have gone to that place

many, many times.

to let go of this,

is to let go of her heavy, heavy pain.