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1/26/2026 0 Comments Poetry by Cordula Plassmannnaql CC
Why Wouldn’t We Talk About Bruno? Silence had fallen Like a stringless guitar. The autumn sun, golden this morning, Now hidden behind low grey clouds. His presence arrived Before his crooked toothless smile. Bruno. Uncle. That back to front baseball cap. Even now. Hi… Hesitant. Unsure. Almost childlike. You… remember me. There’s closeness. Warmth. Love? Come. Please. Slowly. Cautiously. My life. Wasted. Lost. Not wasted. Always looking for the next hit. Forever tuning the pain. Always ashamed. Bruno, the addict. The one who broke. Forever loved. Bruno, the youngest. The one whose song was darkest. I was… so lost. Being held was too big. I wanted love, but… … the static was too loud. Before words Mother died. Stepmother loved. Stepmother loathed. What did I do? Why was love there? And then Gone? The pain. Unbearable. Relentless. Unsurvivable Without numbing. What a waste. What a loss. Bruno, know this. Your parents may have refused The love you needed. Your siblings loved you All the more Through their own scars. You were seen. Your pain was felt. You were loved. Unconditionally. Imperfectly. I’m sorry. So are they. Cordula Plassmann is a writer based in Aotearoa New Zealand. Her work explores the space where personal grief meets systemic silence, examining how shame, trauma, and love move through families and cultures. She is drawn to complexity rather than resolution, and values language that makes room for truth without claiming control. Anti-Heroin Chic is a sponsored project of Indolent Arts, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit fiscal sponsor. Please consider making a one-time tax-deductible donation.
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