to the ocean my mother before leaving

you
sand and sun and salt
scour
every
thing

heal wounds

bake
my skin
brown
a testament
to my experience
or something

take
me
in your waves
wash
away
memories

each pore
is closed
everything
is tight,
new

i will take
a jar
and attempt
to carry
a piece of you
inside

in return,
will you
scour
his face
from my memory?

my voice a small whisper
in comparison
with your crash, roar

every
sound
i make
is absorbed
lovingly

shoukran,
deliberately.

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About mirit mizrahi

artist, writer, activist, giant. זהירות! אני מזרחית
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