So you look in the mirror and
you say to yourself, who is she?
In the even
moments, amid the strife
Of a sister-fight,
I tell her:
I have to say I only
Have a certain amount of time
And I don't want to waste it
On this, my sister
So here is what you need to know:
Avoid the subterfuge
For it will be your Waterloo
In the end all we, and
You, have is the mighty
Surgical sword of
Feeling and the near-certainty that
We know all that which
We're unable to put into
The words we need to find
To share.
So in this wild night, the moon
Hangs like a gong, you strike
That surface, vibrating in the waves of sound and light
That oscillate out into the
Universe.
We only have our heaven's slot,
A porous, fragile gathering ground
And whether we dwell or visit here,
If there is no knowing, let us find another
Us.
©Wrexie Bardaglio, Co-Editor
1 comment:
There is a distance between knowing and naming that we strive to bridge. In the eye of the storm of our turmoil, we somehow must find the strength to come out of hiding, from within our protected cocoons, to catch and wrestle down the elusive knowing, until it cries "uncle" -- or whatever words we need to express what we know and long to communicate clearly. We cannot change our slot. What we can change is our lot, our fate, our fortune, by creating new ways to come together in good faith -- by giving birth
to a new us, devoid of history's battered baggage. Brava!
Post a Comment