I have two dresses to choose from:
A coral one and a deep green.
I have so many boxes of jewelry.
I have one beautiful white coat, heavy
and well-made.
Looking in the mirror,
I was thinking and thinking
About how I seem-
I plan my arrivals and escape routes
Which is hard in a city I don’t know.
I imagine who will be there
And calculate when they saw me last.
It’s a common thing to feel like
Everyone has conquered and claimed
Their lives completely
While you flounder in a patched
rubber boat, bobbing off the coast of
A whole nation of loss.
Re-direction of the mind
is necessary sometimes.
I take a hold of my minds material
and shape it playfully, solemnly.
This nation
accumulates like history
a constructed landscape. I am forced
to crumple up drafts in my fist.
Where am I, really?
Finally I see the real as I squint
through the dust of deconstructing forms.
A jungle rises up, infinite roots serpentine
in the acrid soil-
wet and breathing emotion.
Beyond the jungle, mountains-
instant blue altitude, a looking spot
where I can go cheek to cheek with God.
From there I can lay my palm in the air
and smooth the plains, steeping in time
an internal ocean that rises and falls like a sleeping chest.
Above is a soundless sky
with clouds moving like a herd of animals
drawn towards the slipping horizon.
And the horizon itself
is fluid, even from afar, the sea,
a heaving deep content in forming all maps.
She moves sunlight and moonlight,
reflecting, cradling, sucking it down into
the hidden chasms of the Earth.
I decide my nation is sacred
as are the nations of my neighbors.
I am the one being that all
the enduring things cradle.
Because in all loss is the remarkable
inescapable tolling of hope,
a throb of the eternally true.
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