Residual

Maybe all the words we hear don’t
disappear, but are sent somewhere,
like a law of nature—
what’s said can be neither created nor destroyed.
Everything that’s been spoken shifts form,
becomes something else.

Mother’s criticisms, once cast,
float through two ears and
cling to a plate in soapy dishwater,
spiraling down the drain to rest
among other dirty things in the sewers.

That first “I love you,” heard with pleasure,
heavy with its own weight,
now lingers as a faint stain on sheets
where bodies first lay down.

And a two-year-old’s laughter left its mark
on each of us, and on the walls of the parlor.
Most settled in his father’s ashes,
now slowly turning to stone
at the bottom of a lake.

About the Author
Maudie Bryant (she/her) is a Pushcart-nominated poet, multidisciplinary artist, and educator based in Shreveport, Louisiana. As a mother and graduate of the University of Louisiana Monroe (M.A. in English), Maudie surveys the complexities of memory and identity through her work. Her writing explores the layers of human experience, uncovering the disquiet that lies just beneath the surface. Her poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in Anodyne Magazine, Susurrus, and Rathalla Review. Connect with her on Instagram at @maudiemichelle and Twitter at @MaudieVerse.