I wear the years like second skin–
They do not speak, but fray–
A fabric stretched too tight to shed
A seam ripped, not unlayed
They cling in folds below the feet
And gather—at the throat
Their color pale, their silence smooth
Their ring too loud to note
I walk among the living will,
Through yesterday’s in tow—
It murmurs through the stitching’s faults
Of who I was– below
The mirrors do not interdict,
But nod, with one small grin,
No rush to ask the hour now,
I’m dressed in what has been.
Author’s Note:
This poem was inspired by Emily Dickinson’s writing style (her lyrical structure and use of slant rhyme and dashes), and was written in the quiet aftermath of my grandmother’s death. The purpose of this poem, for me, was to explore how grief and the passage of time settle into us as time passes, becoming part of our daily selves, like a second skin we have to learn to live in. It reflects how the past shapes who I am, through both dramatic events and the small changed that build up to become part of my identity.
Emilia Scannell-Siga | 16 | New York City, NY | @emi.s1ga on TikTok & @emi.siga on Instagram
