A Gift

This is my poem about fear, about not knowing enough truth to get by, about being a bit overwhelmed by the end, by the finalizing of clothes & letters & cities. Here’s a complete list of my accomplishments:

Do I need to tell you again? Or do you get it?

This is my poem about fear, my fear about listening, about ending my silence with one word, and the one word is willingness. I’ve never believed in that, even though I know it’s the reason for clouds, for fence posts, for empty roads. I’ve changed my mind a thousand times, and that’s ok. My heart is simple food for starving wolves in the dark caves of their cold.

These words wanted to be a poem about wind and rain, but I said no. I’m master of the weather, a student of depression and barometric realities. This is my poem, and I say fear is what you want, and it will surely find you.

Now for the blessing: May the hair lift itself from you neck. May your arms goose-bump when something whispers your name in a long, familiar hallway, the door creaking shut just before you pass it.

This is your poem about fear – a little gift – sounding inside your head a world from here.

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