I put it forward,
At last —
Unable to bear
The lonely hearth.

I sharpened the blade,
Lit the fire,
And rowed my boat
Out past the reef.

I began to take it in again.
Opened the windows —
Let in the wind,
The sun in my hair,
The rocky shoreline receding.

And sitting there,
Amidst a lullaby of lonely voices,
I wondered
How so much darkness
Could gather beneath the slanting sun.

Let them in,
Stoke the fire,
And put the kettle on.
Uncork the bottle
And pass it again.
You should know by now,
My friend,
The futility of a locked door.

If it comforts,
Clothe yourself in quiet,
And find the one thing
To anchor you to earth
(Lest they trick you
Into riding along
On their own dreams
And backroads).

Blade against wood grain.
The stirring of the pot.
The cool herbs to be added
Just before the end.

This music that they make —
Let it in.
Like to like,
Gather them here.
Let them feast.
(It is the only way
To heal this,
Wary watcher.)

Their thousand cuts will sting.
But how much worse —
The aching of an untried heart.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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