There will be a day you notice
the sun
churn out beams and
dribbles of light,
and stop to feel a softer patch of
grass with your feet,
and feel the breeze’s hymns
and whistles.
There will be laughter
and defeat
and angry Voices saying
‘You don’t deserve it”:
The tan crescent at twilight,
Gentle purrs when the window gets boring,
Two hands that can write for hours.
but making yourself easy to chew
and carry and keep hidden
does not work forever.
It has been too long, too many foul graces and
melancholy mirrors,
and They sound raspy when the bark bites back:
“You don’t deserve this”
but you do.
It was a decade of whittling —
gnawing at
what some call hypocrisy,
what you called salvation.
There can be too many limbs
to keep track of, but you can dance
and you can smell the dirt,
and an oak tree is reborn,
seeds make their way home and
Little by little,
shadows soak up something
else and the clouds subside, and
the Angry Voices go too,
and they follow the song that they will sing
and you will follow yours.
and you will finally know
what this was all for,
The love you receive is not ill
in its temporality. It is an acknowledgement
that sweetness goes, but it comes.
