Maybe A Hug
Poetry on Fractured Childhood Memory
A peek into childhood memory — its warmth and hurts. The mystery — and gravity — of what we cannot remember. Fractured souls — and minds. Moulding moments that shape us — and the gentle disquiet beneath it all.
🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸
Lying still
Under
The smudged glass coffee table
Fingertips trace the veins
Of wood
Soft laughter
Upstairs
Faint
Distant
Scattered.
🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸
A hand.
No, two.
Reach round
To wrap.
Her shadow?
A gentle creak
Of floorboards.
🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸
A
quick
Warm touch
Against the skin
The scent
of torn petals.
Hurt.
Wilting.
🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸
A voice
Sweet, Sing
Song,
Too
Soft.
Fades without
Warning.
Still.
Why?
🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸
I stumble
Behind the
Shadows
Unseen.
But here, breathing
Looking for
Her.
🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸
Original poem by Michelle Liew. AI tags are coincidental.
For Vocal's This is How I Remember It Challenge
About the Creator
Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin
Hi, i am an English Language teacher cum freelance writer with a taste for pets, prose and poetry. When I'm not writing my heart out, I'm playing with my three dogs, Zorra, Cloudy and Snowball.
Keep reading
More stories from Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin and writers in Poets and other communities.
Crossroads
There are times in life when you’re not where you were, yet not where you’re supposed to be. You pause—your feet, breath, thoughts, and mostly, heart, hover. Crossroads comes from this place — the in-between—where decision whispers, and is difficult to hear. It is a poem about standing still, feeling the heaviness of the past lift—and the weight of what comes next.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin5 months ago in Poets
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith6 days ago in Humor
Comments (10)
I can imagine the coffee table. Smudges left by your fingertip. Searching for memory using objects of the past. I like how the soft laughter didnt just sound faint, but scattered. It was almost ghost like, the way you described the hand reaching round, the gentle creak brought that to another level. I like how you mentioned the warmness of the touch — the hurt — the memory turned into torn petals. 'but here breathing looking for her' a haunting ending. Outstanding work Michelle 🤗❤️
Soft and a little heart-squeezy. Like a memory that half-smiles at you but doesn’t spill all its secrets.
Well-written; so 💔
Oh now I feel sad 😢 So beautifully done 👍
I love how you leave the reader guessing what's to happen. Sad, but beautifully written!
Such a great entry for this challenge, Michelle!
This felt almost like a dream, very surreal. Wonderfully penned :)
Love the form of this and every word makes you think
What a great entry. This was haunting and tender all at once.
This felt kinda sad. Loved your poem!