Living Room The cradle of my mother’s arms became the site of her second daughter’s final breaths. There was built a bridge, moments long, and mourning wide, housing them both, pearls of Child and of Nurture, before gently dismantling to return as the nook of an old, worn couch. I am a woman of twenty-nine. A third daughter. Prayer and solitude linger, these alternating mechanisms spinning the cogs of my worship, not to be overridden by any ordinary force. To this day when light catches in corners of everywhere, I want God to be there smiling. For my body to cease its ticking and winding so that my sister can hear that I remain curious as to what I was doing for three years, or if we had once crossed, starfire to starfire, before settling into His plan, all of us watching on while our mother draws the blinds in the cave of the living room.
Amanda Emilio is fascinated with and often writes about the strong ties between everyday life and spirituality. Her work has been published in The Janus Journal and The America Library of Poetry: Impressions of Youth. You can connect with her on her instagram: @sun_spotsss.
Amethyst Review 