The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
We are ripe for the precipice,
heavily laden on the cusp of virginal despair,
held aloft by a single breath shared -
don't let go of my hand
and I won't let go of yours.
Moments of separation slip through unnoticed
until we open our eyes in the midst of what we thought
was a dream and see we are falling fast
with jagged stones waiting beneath,
memories of what once were mountains,
now become hardened tears.
"If only" are two words sighed in regret, head in hand,
far too late for the salving of wounds,
long past the point of erasure for scars
we never meant to inflict -
stop. Think before you speak.
There is no going back to the moment right before
the hammer, the axe, the scythe descended upon us.
Graft these words to your heart and memorize their sound.
They are all that stand between us
and the gaping mouth of the world.