(via violentwavesofemotion)
36 HOURS AFTER CONTACTING THE SUICIDE HOTLINE
the moon with its holy shadows & scars
sings to me as i brew my chai with extra cinnamon.
the chipped tea kettle: a harmony.
my moving hands: a harmony.to think i might have missed this morning’s
sight of daffodils blooming in february,
or this afternoon’s imagining of my lover’s smile as he leans
out of his window. yesterday while i sat with the phone
in my trembling hands, someone ate a huge slice
of birthday cake, chocolate & decorated with roses
made of yellow frosting, their laughterensconced in candle smoke. someone bought their first
acoustic guitar in a music shop teeming with vinyls
of tender songs they might one day know how to play.
a child just figuring out how to walk stumbled
back & forth from one set of parents’ legs to another,
grinning the whole way through, like i did once
back when the only thing i knew about god
was that foxes were bright red & in the summer
damsons gleamed out from our front yard plum tree.you’re not a burden, the person on the other end
of the line told me. this pain is temporary & one day
you’re going to know so much beauty that even
your bones will shine with the light of it.
so i hold on to my hot tea. this kitchen dances
with a silence which understands that soon the sweet
honeybees will be kissing the lavender sprigs again
& a different set of constellations will start waking up
in my blue patch of night sky.i take my time drinking it all down. i feel the blood
inside my body, this gentle constancy of my heartbeat.
tomorrow’s forecast calls for heavy rain & you bet
i’ll be standing right there in the swelling music of it,
soaked through to the skin
& alive, & wildly alive, & achingly alive.
i don’t mean to be political, but what if everyone had basic human rights