The love behind all of my poetry

If I wanted to write something important, I would write about my grandmother, About how she is more mountain than woman, and how the “I love you” that lingers in the back of my throat belongs to her. Her voice is the only melody I will never grow tired of hearing; she sounds like a choir in the heart of a church. I turn her chest into a home, wrap my skin around her bones. I memorize the rhythm of her ribcage constantly collapsing with her lungs like waves crashing…

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