Slowly
I wish you would take the time you need.
Enter and enter again until clarity comes
and you leave with all the answers.
We talk of the weather to avoid talk
of the things that matter, though the weather
routinely tells us off. The river sounds
as we wrap ourselves in the moonlight,
eyes closed and not willing for the sun.
The pleasure of wanting nothing more from a moment.
Light escapes from the windows of dreamers;
silhouettes dashing in and out of sight.
Want, the word of the moment. Need, the next.
A day to forget, but a few hours promise to dominate
the memory. There once was a day
where all we paid attention to was the body---
the texture of skin, where the bones protruded
and the colors deepened. Time vanished.
We wrote and colored. I told you that we were too alike
for this to last. And now we are here.
Where the Light Is
The whispering leaves conspire
to free you as you grow your wings
like the butterfly you were
when they said you weren't. What is broken
was once whole--may be broken again
--will be whole again.
This is the resilience of our ancestors
alive in the blood and the dream
you hold like your newborn,
too precious for this world.
Bystander
After Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man
Invisible bodies hold onto themselves.
They have to believe when no one believes.
They develop patience as a necessity
for survival and hope that maybe someday
someone will notice the realness
of invisibility. They stay woke. Awake.
Involved. Within the margins. They might be
the best observers of people’s idiosyncrasies;
doing the work of paying careful attention.
They learn to live with less. Expect less, if anything.
They remain quiet until
they burst open. There’s no in-between.
Invisible bodies might leave the room. You didn’t notice?
Invisible bodies manage to still care.
Invisible bodies have to be stronger than they want to be.