if this love was a sentence,
he is the comma, she
a period, waiting for it to end.

he is ash, ink, autumn,
frayed and decayed, yet unforgotten
but she is a chalkboard dusty winter
who cannot read ink
so she cannot remember

— Liyana Dizzy, 20

From the future: This was written under duress at my first British Council poetry workshop with Jacob Sam-La Rose. I was obsessed with how my illiterate grandmother’s memory loss caused  her perpetual heartbreak. This was also the first poem I ever performed onstage, and it eventually was published in this Readings by Readings anthology, edited by Sharon Bakar and Bernice Chauly. 

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