Holly Ratcliff
White,
polished,
porcelain horses.
Grandmom hands them
to me,
and she cries—
scares me with her sadness.
“I want you to have this.”
Years later,
I dreamt doctors-turned-archaeologists
were going to excavate her brain,
so she held me in her arms,
she became my mother,
and we cried together.
***
Holly Fortune Ratcliff resides in Austin, Texas where she crochets impractical tank tops. She writes about her family, grief, and complicated relationship with food as well as an empowered form of nature – one with realized thoughts and combined autonomy. She has work forthcoming in Lucky Jefferson. You can find her on social sharing slow, small snippets @hollythehare.