I looked, and recognized the sun.
The air seemed lighter than before.
It coaxed the greens to come about,
their wilted hide’ways nevermore
to be. I watched the sky lift up,
as though it loved its world below
again, and wished a better view
of colours blotted not in snow.
I knew that I had asked for this
on each and every greying day
and clutched my trembling frame in hopes
the cold would not bid it away.
I’m here,
but here
I am inside.
I’m sorry that my wants don’t end.
I find I’m kept from all things good
as something in my bones does stop
when coaxed to love or sisterhood
or authenticity of life.
I feel the living in my skin –
it pulses, but I find no beat
to train my steps and movements in.
I cannot find a single start
with which to keep, that holds my heart.
I cannot find a single life
to keep with mine, or play a part,
and nor could I begin this poem
as planned, and it’s gone elsewhere too,
I fear the ending’s still unfound,
and none of it is true.
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