03.02.2026
In response to dVerse Poets Pub:
https://wp.me/p1GTyJ-8N0
Close Enough
I read simile as smile,
like my eyes preferred kindness
over instruction.
Meaning slipped sideways,
like soap in warm hands,
like truth laughing mid-sentence.
I compared grief to weather,
hope to stubborn weeds,
memory to snow that won’t stay put.
If this is wrong,
it’s wrong like laughter at funerals,
like love arriving early.
Sometimes the mind trips,
like a sentence bending—
and lands exactly
where it needs to be.
— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫
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