it was a few months ago.
the packing.
and still.
the boxes lie. in place. untouched. forgotten. and still
always remembered.
i suppose
when things
are always leaving.
or
when
you are always going.
the ones that stay
become the needles
in the stacks of hay.
and it just doesn’t make sense to look anymore.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Anthony Tran
often
growing up
after a fall
i was told
to let the wounds
be.
that the best
way for their
healing
was their solitude.
that scars could come
but most would
go.
and i would be better.
it is a weird thing.
for i am all grown now.
and i
try
and try
and try
let the wounds be.
and it just doesn’t seem to work anymore
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Matheus Ferrero
there is a rise
to the shadows.
a consistency
to the chasing.
a repetition
to the tension.
a coldness
to the blankets.
a darkness that stays.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Jesús Rocha
sometimes.
the magnitude of memory
outweighs
the magnitude of belief.
and we stay.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Ryan Christodoulou
it is taking place.
when the moon rises.
when the sun sets.
when the rain does not pour.
there is a silence
to the bloom.
-do not fear the absence of the happening.
© Hudson Biko
Photo by Lucas Silva Pinheiro Santos
hudson biko 