121 lines
2.6 KiB
Plaintext
121 lines
2.6 KiB
Plaintext
|
Twenty-One
|
||
|
|
2021-04-30
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Come spring, there will be a garden in the backyard.
|
||
|
|
And I know that it will be hard
|
||
|
|
to convince my fingers to dig into the dirt,
|
||
|
|
to convince them that this time
|
||
|
|
it will not hurt,
|
||
|
|
they will not bleed,
|
||
|
|
that things will grow from the ground
|
||
|
|
lush and ripe and able to my hunger feed.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
A year and a half ago, I almost died
|
||
|
|
wandering the town square,
|
||
|
|
waiting for the library to open again
|
||
|
|
so I could from my mother
|
||
|
|
and her screaming matches
|
||
|
|
and her commercialism
|
||
|
|
and her endless onslaught of interruptions
|
||
|
|
hide.
|
||
|
|
My thighs were burning,
|
||
|
|
not from the labors of childbirth,
|
||
|
|
but from the frostnip thawing-
|
||
|
|
and, by Goddess, did it *hurt*.
|
||
|
|
Flesh as human,
|
||
|
|
almost a refugee.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I was test-running homelessness
|
||
|
|
like it were a new car,
|
||
|
|
like it came with a commercial:
|
||
|
|
freedom
|
||
|
|
and a world
|
||
|
|
stretched out in front of me
|
||
|
|
that I could hold
|
||
|
|
if only my palms could handle infinity.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
But I didn't want to leave
|
||
|
|
my favorite tree
|
||
|
|
behind.
|
||
|
|
I couldn't stand to watch the rain
|
||
|
|
come down and feel the pain
|
||
|
|
in my heart, asking:
|
||
|
|
what is it worth if I gain
|
||
|
|
the world but lose
|
||
|
|
my life because I felt
|
||
|
|
I could only choose
|
||
|
|
scraping by on the skin of my belt?
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I tell myself, one of these days I will run.
|
||
|
|
I will slip out once the sun
|
||
|
|
has gone to its own home
|
||
|
|
and I will leave mine forever.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
But all that I do
|
||
|
|
is as if
|
||
|
|
I will stay.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I reach
|
||
|
|
for the sky
|
||
|
|
as I dig my own grave.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I let Mother
|
||
|
|
and Grandmother
|
||
|
|
and people I only know through my mother
|
||
|
|
buy me gifts
|
||
|
|
I know I have not the room to abscond with.
|
||
|
|
I fix my desktop,
|
||
|
|
giving it a new shot
|
||
|
|
at life under my desk.
|
||
|
|
I buy a game,
|
||
|
|
even knowing it insane,
|
||
|
|
so much money just to stare into a screen
|
||
|
|
and let the remnants color my dreams.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
But in the remnants
|
||
|
|
I find a baby quilt
|
||
|
|
faded and soft
|
||
|
|
that speaks of unconditional love and shelter.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
In the remnants
|
||
|
|
I find myself laughing
|
||
|
|
at a homemade cake,
|
||
|
|
lopsided, wildly off-kilter.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
In the remnants
|
||
|
|
I find a life worth patching back together.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I find a garden
|
||
|
|
and a bicycle
|
||
|
|
and a gentle rhythm
|
||
|
|
of pleasures simple.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
There is no audience to please.
|
||
|
|
There is no greatness to be attained.
|
||
|
|
Just go enjoy your life.
|
||
|
|
The outcome will be the same.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
You survived Goddess' trial,
|
||
|
|
convinced you had to cut yourself down,
|
||
|
|
but instead you slashed open your chest and let forth
|
||
|
|
an ocean so deep she might drown.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
And what scares you is that, if she does,
|
||
|
|
you might not emit a single sob,
|
||
|
|
for your love stands at your back and whispers,
|
||
|
|
"Create a world with no need for gods."
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Over and over again
|
||
|
|
you find yourself
|
||
|
|
discovering there was never any other way.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Over and over again
|
||
|
|
you find yourself
|
||
|
|
reaffirming the decision to stay.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|