White doves present themselves as something—
Oh so delicate, Intimate even sad.
My white dove was different. My white dove was pink.
Her name was Cheri Winters. My dove flew so gracefully.
My grandma’s death was pain, sadness and anger.
Questions arising everyday. Why weren’t we closer?
Why now? Why can’t I think straight?
I question why God took her.
I answered my own question. She was in so much pain..
Her death was a reminder that without her I wouldn’t be me.
See we take so much for granted without even realizing.
My white dove was a rose growing in the concrete.
Imprinting on lives that would affect me.
She created children she had yes idea would become-
Who they are now.
As I grieve this loss I’m reaching out.
I cannot begin to understand the paint my aunt is experiencing.
Loss is hard. Harder when you’re so deeply connected.
Right now I can’t do my hair without crying my eyes out.
5:25 am will stick by my side forever.
I can’t stand in the mirror and see her face in mine.
Sept 22 feels like the last day I saw the sun.
It used to be such an ordinary day.
Her hospital room 612. What a room to be in.
The best part of the sunset is a crisp bold orange.
All these thing use t hold zero values to me
They now hold an ample amount of memories.
I wish I could go back in time and say more.
Show more progress in my life to her.
It still feels unreal. Dream like almost.
I feel like the ground disappears when people ask where I was
Most think I was skipping class. No one should have to hear it.
The explanation with tears and dread.
It feels as if a knife is in my throat to say it aloud
I just want to be left alone to think.
Not to cry but to think to myself.
I know most people are trying to be genuine with me.
It hasn’t been easy to speak on.
It’s only day 2.
I can only pray for my family and self.
I hold on to everything I can for her.
For me. And for the future.
I love my white dove.
The City High Review 