finding grace among the rubble

sea, earth, sky


three tastes on my tongue, three words my father taught me to savor, three pressure points on my body pulsating with memories and lifelines.

            forehead: and my mouth opens
wide to a river of brine. i try to
            talk to the fish as they swim
underneath my feet but my
            voice only comes out a gurgle.
somehow this is fine as my
            attention is drawn to the sun
dancing on my toes and on
            the sand. summerhood has
only just started but already
            i am steadily growing tall
enough to reach the sun. 

            spine: and my arms are pulling
at the soft earth, digging holes to
            bury the secrets i have kept so
long on my shoulders. flowers
            now start to grow and they are
far more beautiful than my mother
            taught me how to love. this is
fine, i will just take pictures and
            tape them to my wall for when
winter comes and makes me forget
            that change is not always the
same as death, dying, decay. 

            knees: and my toes are holding
stars between them. they are
            warm, not too hot, just enough
to heat them as the snow is
            falling and the moon is pulling
the sun away. i count how many
            times i wished they were home
and realized they weren’t wishing
            that at all; rather the stars are
planting a new home in me,
            waiting to see if, their sister,
will join them there. 



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