Children of the night,
lost and lingering in the recesses of darkness,
come close now
to the fire of unconditional love,
so that I may see your sad and shameful faces.
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The alluring possibility
of a blank page.
I wonder if I,
with so many years
already written,
could be empty like that,
could turn the page
on a life half written,
or maybe almost complete,
and find a clear space
to step into.
It is here, in the temple of the shadows
that I learn what kindness is
and how forgiveness gives
without asking for anything in return.
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I allow the chaos to disrobe me
and shred the evidence
of who I once was.
All of my proof of self,
my arguments of worth,
abandon me now.
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He thought he could erase you,
make you disappear from the story of humanity
and the dignity of all that matters.
I have blood on my hands
that won’t come clean
no matter how hard
I try to ignore it
or wipe it away.
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Sew yourself up another mask.
Go ahead, make it pretty or make it tough.
Make it who you think you need to be.
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I spent the whole day with my hands in the earth. She obliterated my everyday perspective, and showed me how, out here, we abide by a different kind of law.
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We are the mothers and the daughters of the mothers who are growing old and vanishing into the house of their aloneness.
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Life as we know it has been canceled. The millions of urgent tasks we crudely stacked together to construct a shaky house of safety and worth—shattered.
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