i think i missed you

we wake

to create;

 

we carry some-

thing from the

 

night: thick

on us, in us—

 

a thousand stories deep

as the crow flies.

 

we were meant

to meet there,

 

you and i—

but

 

i think i

missed you.

 

i think we are

living the before.

 

—or—

 

this is my body,

broken for you,

 

like in the

hereafter.

 

we are here

to make some-

 

thing new:

but we know

 

it has all been done

under the heavy static

 

of sun. we traverse the

taverns, ear to the ground

 

for a philistine,

a dervish,

 

something royal

to stir us up.

 

we become the swine

digging in the pearls;

 

it is our

communion.

 

we sit on the dock

and wait; we believe

 

something is on its

way—a ship, a revolution,

 

a stay; a drunken glacier

swaying toward us with glee:

 

to allay our fears, our need,

our repeat existence.

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every one is listening

20150504_065758

wrap your self in

your own narrative,



in your own sweet & terrible

story that only you can



weave. others will try

to tell it for you:



you must shut them

up with your own



glory. do not be afraid

of the way you shimmer



& shine when you climb

to the top of that finite hill.



you worked so hard to

get up & out of the valley.



you were the only one there

to see the true darkness;



the hurt;

the despair.



others tried to care

but could not enter.



when you came out

you were a new being,



wearing

survival.



at times you still feel like a fraud,

like an imposter in this world,



like you are trying to win a

race you have already won.



the real frauds are the ones

trying to take your voice.



stand tall on the sun-soaked

cliff and tell your story—all



of it—even if no one is

listening.



and,

every one is listening.




Art by Olivia Santiago


First line and some concepts shared by Barbara McNamee Moody