Sunday, April 30, 2017

NPM Day 30 {Rocks & Feathers}

Rocks & Feathers
April 27, 2017

The lowest tides bring the highest pain,
she is reminded on the shore
of stones smooth and cold, and sits
to let the frigid waters wash her feet.
Wind ruffles red tendrils of hair,
rattles the anxiety caging her heart,
and a murky sunset catches all
the blue from watering eyes.
She blinks until the sky is gray,
letting waves of salty atmosphere
dry tears and clear off the seagulls.
This hurt cannot be smoothed out
and left upon the winnowing beach
among shells and gentle driftwood.
We cannot know the history of things,
how large or small a creation came
from a pebble, a branch, a leaf.
We are all just rocks and feathers.
She sees all that's been forgotten,
sandy remnants of other shores, things
which tell no stories of former greatness.
And as the night air rushes downward
it carries her, and she knows,
she could have been a mountain,
and she could have been a bird.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

NPM Day 29 {Position}

September 9, 2016

Let it be my turn.
I have begged.
In a modern era
I have found myself kneeling
under desks and
in the dark.
Let it be my turn.
I have burned photographs
and filtered out
supposed poisons,
Let it be my turn.
Always patient,
although devastated,
but somehow
never questioning
my position.
But perhaps
I should be pleading
to simply be allowed

to stand in line.

Friday, April 28, 2017

NPM Day 28 {The Pause}

The Pause
April 9, 2017

I envision myself paused, my hands pressed
against praying lips, eyes closed, all senses omitted
except the sound of my heart beating.
It's a sagacious and frequently visited image,
hoping it will lead me somewhere new,
but whether I see my body swaying
mid-song, or crouched under this desk,
I am infinitely alone in such a moment.
The world offers no insight to, nor respite from,
the haunting desire that captures me,
that subtle yet emboldened pain
always just beyond my grasp, feigning
an approach and then fading fast.
And so intrepidly I take pause, always
assuming position in solitude, always hoping
that if I open my eyes, my heartbeat
will be stronger alongside yours.

Thursday, April 27, 2017

NPM Day 27 {Roundabout}

This poem used to give me chills. They were sort of good chills, sort of bad chills. When I wrote this over seven years ago, they were my only way of processing one of the biggest fights with a friend I've ever experienced. I honestly can't even remember what the fight was about, but it went on for several months longer than I felt capable of enduring.

All I had were these words. 

And I've avoided this poem over the years, but it doesn't have power over me anymore. 

So here you go.

February 12, 2010

You are the friend of my conveniences,
coffee cups cold with petty sympathies.
You are a walk in the dark,
the translation of my nightmares,
and you lay your hands down on me
like a sacrificial beast into the flames.
You bear the knife in clammy palms,
breathing out my fate like a grudge
that holds on hopelessly.

You are the arrow that misses my heart
a thousand times too many for pity.
You stab me in the back
and apologize. You are so sorry.
Patterns go roundabout, but maybe
you will hit the target next time.

You are the accumulation of ice,
the shivering abandonment of reason.
You stab me in the back
and apologize. You are so sorry.
Patterns go roundabout,
yes is a maybe and maybe means no.
You stab me in the back

and sympathize. You are so sorry
that I am such a sorry sight.
You stab me in the hand
and put the blade in my bloody fingers
and you scream for me.
You say I did it to myself and
you say it's all my fault and
you stab me in the heart and
patronize. You are so sorry
that I don't see it your way.

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

NPM Day 26 {Chalet}

December 20, 2016

Rickety seats and bright nights,
cool summers, proximal mountains,
all fade and grow hazy
under a new star.
Nobody takes these memories from me.
I say a thing can be beautiful
even after you’ve touched it,
even after I swore
it was ruined for forever.
I’m taking them all back now,
the theaters and cemeteries,
the antique stores, the lake.
I will reclaim jokes in stairwells,
and the blue tiles I stared at
during my first panic attack.
Nobody holds their record
except for me
and when they play across the silver screen
the credits will misplace your name.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

NPM Day 25 {What Kind Are You}

What Kind Are You
October 1, 2016

Dewdrop sunrising,
rumble engine drum,
shushing trees
and a draught of coffee.
I wish.

Middleofthenight anxiety,
moonlit unrest
with the Almighty.
Black tears or a dirty face.
I wish you were.

Momentous scarlet hope,
undaring questions,
gentle darkness cushions
and words pacify.

Monday, April 24, 2017

NPM Day 24 {Barefoot}

--This doesn't have to be one of your favorites, but it is one of mine.

September 29, 2016

When I was younger,
I lived in the rain;
pain held no beauty or treasure,
and no one ever spoke of
the stillness
brought in with summer’s end.
Autumn in Auburn
was damp and evergreen,
not like here where
I can stand in the parking lot
suddenly silent
without the hum of a thousand
air conditioners
and then I can move
in any direction
to crush a leaf beneath my feet.
The crisp noise resonates
off those bricks, still sore
from the cicadas’ song.
No one ever told me
the falling leaves
among ill-tempered winds
would break my heart,
would whisper my name
back against a wall of memory
until I was just a little girl again
running in the rain,
fearless of any consequences
–even barefoot.
I feel it coming every year
like the hushed breath
before a storm,
and I catch myself
longing for it and
dreading it all the same,
but can never quite prepare
for the falling
beautiful ache.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

NPM Day 23 {The night before the first step}

The night before the first step
February 27, 2017

I try

have tried

to be the gift

before you are received.

But I

only I

see the impossible

before it is conceived.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

NPM Day 22 {Winter Resurgence}

Winter Resurgence
December 19, 2016

under the moon that night

it blinked down
like a veiled eye

i said
i can be brave
when i can’t feel my hands

under the glitter trees

where berries frost
and disappointments freeze

i said
i killed a wolf
you just killed a man

Friday, April 21, 2017

NPM Day 21 {Removed}

January 18, 2017

How can a heartbeat
be something bad?
I would give everything
to carry what you had.
In different measures
we go under the knife.
I remove poison.
You remove life.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

NPM Day 20 {Pull Into the Station}

Pull Into the Station
October 4, 2016

Be the morning light
in my hair.
Take me
to the edge and back
with flair.

When we were here before
on the tracks I grieved.
And when we returned
my body had been freed.

So be sunlight
or be sorrow.
I want to go
there and back again.
Be merciless
or generous
just make my journey

worth the pain.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

NPM Day 19 {Pretty With a Pistol}

I wrote this back in 2009, concerning a certain terrible breakup. I posted it as a "note" on Facebook. My poetry professor, and English adviser at the time, casually commented, "Is this written by you? It's great. The aridity has its own values and assets and we profit from the Moroccan Street experience, don't we?"

I didn't ask him to read it, but it wasn't the first/last time he commented on my poetry. It was the exact kind of validation I needed. I thought I wanted validation about my failed relationship. I wanted people to tell [unnamed terrible boyfriend] that he'd made a mistake, and we should get back together.

Ya'll know me a little, by now. I get invested in people rather quickly. Even 8 years ago, that was true.

I was just barely beginning to allow myself to be angry about the situation when I wrote this poem. I'd spent almost an entire month simply wishing I could still be with [unnamed terrible boyfriend.] I managed to fly home to Washington for spring break just a few weeks prior to this piece being written, and at my mother's Bible study I asked everyone to pray that I could "get him back." (I was young and INVESTED, okay? I want all of my relationships to work out, no matter what. I don't give up easily. I'm gonna end these parenthesis before this blog is like 50% excuses for loving the wrong person.) And after all the talks with my friends, even amidst a thousand other encouraging voices, I recall my friend Marianne (may she rest in peace) shaking her head and explaining how silly that was. She said he had treated me poorly, that he didn't deserve me, and that if he didn't understand how artistic and incredible I was he wasn't worth my time. But her most important sentiment: "I'm angry at him for you, even if you aren't!"

So when I look back on it, I am kindly reminded that my heart was being heard above the nonsense of my sadness. In a time where I felt confused, disappointed, and rejected there were trusted people outside the situation who knew what I needed to hear, even if I didn't want it at the time. I needed to feel angry about how I had been treated, not about the fact that we'd broken up. (I am, obviously, glad we broke up. I married Joey, after all.)

So here you go. The Moroccan Street experience.

Pretty With a Pistol
April 1, 2009

Today is one of those blue-sky, wide-open types.
Just a reminder of how much I love the desert,
the sandy wind all abrasive against my skin.
I miss the spice in the air and rattle snakes
warning us to never go into the long grass.
Days and nights blended under that sun.

We don't have to go stay at that city, though.
I could never make anyone enjoy that heat
as much as I did. Your heart is much too closed.

But maybe we could go somewhere else for a while.
Let's go to Moroccan Street, just you and me.
Brick houses will shade us where there are no trees,
and everyone will greet you with a foreign smile.
We'll dress up and sweat in the dusty afternoon.

I've always wanted to wear a fancy gown
and drag you into the incense-flavored sunset,
to dance and fade into a cool midnight.
You never gave me the chance, though.

When I look back up into the blue canvas of sky,
and look back down at the gray slab of cement,
I am reminded that I'm not going to the desert again.
But if I could go and we danced in the sunset,
I'd dance you into the middle of the burning dirt road

and I would shoot you straight through the heart.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

NPM Day 18 {Landlocked}

November 17, 2016

Each night, unsleeping eyes
see her face and dream of
on a distant shore.
The waves pull me
into nightmares
where she is sorry
and she explains
although I never hear the words.
In slumber my sobs
are so frightfully real
unlike her anger
which was always
and is still, all these years,
so silent.
And medicated
I see her more clearly,
free of the anxiety
yet still anxiously seeking her out.
I wonder if there is a reason
for her midnight eyes
behind my blue,
for her mischief
inside my somnolent visions.
Crashing against the rocks
of consciousness
I am only reminded
our reunion is not real,
she has left me for good,
and there is no ocean

to bring us together.

Monday, April 17, 2017

NPM Day 17 {Willow Tree}

Willow Tree
May 30, 2016

it was long ago under a willow tree
you spoke and made me still

i heard you
i felt you
i breathed you
in the wind

as it passed so steadily
in time like a divine heartbeat

through the grass
through the flowing branches
through my hair
through me

i can close my eyes and remember
that final moment of stillness
being so perfectly held

before you moved
the world all around me
before you moved
in the branches above me
before you moved
within me

Saturday, April 15, 2017

NPM Day 16 {Hours in Eternity}

A poem for Easter. A break from the norm with some simple rhyming, and also a break from the norm because I try not to do holiday poems but whatever. I feel what I feel. I do what I want.

Hours in Eternity
April 16, 2017

Darkness willows down
and settles itself
like a cape of cloud
unsettling all else.
The sycamore tree
where you redeemed
a man shrouded
by his greed
trembles and fades
in shadows now
as thunder breaks
the sky aloud.

You are the one
we've waited for
to fight the darkness
and win the war.
And long ago
when you lived
among the dust
only to give
away your life
we couldn't know
what waiting still
you would bestow.

This blackest night
after death's display
calmed the hate
once set ablaze.
Your followers
fell in despair
believing you had
abandoned them there.
And in your time
they waited one day
while here and now
we still wait and pray.

But these are hours
in eternity,
in time you've claimed
to set us free.
Kept in darkness
I watch and wait
holding the hope
you illustrate,
and knowing forever
I would wait for you,
even without knowing
when the light shines through.

NPM Day 15 {Except}

March 20, 2017

Today I walked longingly
through splintered barricades
where we wept. You faded,
in a hushing, ferocious way,
like a trampled flower once alive
and then snuffed out. And I’m sorry
that everything changes,
that the world you knew
could never be reformed,
and that every impulse since
has disappointed or dismantled
what you believed was love.
I’m sorry that the Love you had
has been diluted by poison rain.
And I’m sorry you are bridled
by knowing that everything changes,
that winds die down and ice melts,
that fathers make sorry mothers
and mothers neglect their children,
that evergreens die someday
and some storms contain no rainbow,
that our creations are not sustainable
by sheer will. I’m sorry
you seem to think that
since everything changes
so does Love. But it doesn’t.

Friday, April 14, 2017

NPM Day 14 {In the same ditch}

In the same ditch
April 5, 2017

These are images of a misunderstanding,
I try to write them down in notes but
I just keep seeing myself sitting on a rock
all cringes and winces and perplexity.
It's a real thing, what I've done for my enemy,
the sleepless hours spent scavenging
for something to win you over.
Nobody asked me to celebrate your birth
or offer you kindness, or even smile
in your general direction--especially
since you apparently don't understand me.
I did it anyways, hoping you'd grow
to respect me, even from afar.
But understanding is not friendship
nor is friendship understanding, like
two weeds just growing in the same ditch.
And I know I'm not a weed but I think
perhaps you are, taking up all this space,
stifling me and stealing my sunshine
and pushing me into the rocks where I sit

and now I cannot get this stupid look off my face.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

NPM Day 13 {A Contender}

A Contender
September 27, 2016

Here, absolved with shadows,
I will stand my ground and demand
to see you eye to eye.
We are not equals,
but I will fight.
Make me a contender.
Let me hold the weapons
you will only destroy.
Raise me up with valor
which you will only crush.
Allow me a moment
to look you in the face
and hope I might have a chance
at some small victory.
Fight me until I am weak.
Strike me until I am bruised.
Love me enough
to break me
so that I can rebuild.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

NPM Day 12 {Bludgeon}

January 1, 2017

It’s not like a hammer.
There’s a head to hit,
but it’s mine–
there’s no nail.
Just me, beating
my skull against a wall,
over and over again,
asking the same question,
repeating the heartbreak
every time
the flowers wither
or the snow melts.
Each impact
is somebody else
getting what I want,
each bruise just a reminder
that even if I was the wall
instead of the bludgeon
it still wouldn’t be my turn
to win.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

NPM Day 11 {Contain}

August 31, 2016

Infant tears unmeasured.

Wrinkles uncounted, unsurprised.

I tried to save sand in my pockets.

I attempted to hold whole lives.

Slipping away like sunbeams.

The last sign of light is the best.

What we contain cannot be known.

What remains is the test.

Monday, April 10, 2017

NPM Day 10 {Clutching}

--This one still hits me in the gut. Every. Single. Day.

November 24, 2016

It was this time last year,
my hands thick with flour,
lungs swelling with cinnamon,
wondering how
I could have said such things.

Here I wait at a precipice,
no longer looking down
but gazing out,
with this clutching feeling
at my collarbone
where my body filled with rage,
and I forsook you.

How did I collect such feelings
without anyone else seeing?
How did the world turn
while I held on and on and on,
but you had let go
when we were young?

No one ever stopped us.
No one ever said
to love more softly,
to give you up freely,
to succumb to the emptiness of loss.
No one told you
to love more fiercely,
to hold onto my dearly,
to understand how we
needed each other.

And then no one let me grieve.

Until this time last year.
I poured my regrets
and stirred my tears
in with the spices,
waking up with the sunlight,
alone in the kitchen,
wondering how
could I have said those things,
how did my bitterness taste
in your mouth,
how could I go on like this,
how could I,
how could I love,
could I love you less.

Mid-NPM Ramble #1 [The Heckler]

I'm awake right now because the dog woke me up. The dog woke me up because we didn't take her out recently. We didn't take her out recently because went to bed before midnight. And we went to bed before midnight because my hubby is tired.

I, however, was less tired because I was sick this morning and skipped church and therefore when the dog woke me up I'd only been asleep for about 45 minutes so I've just been putzing around the apartment trying to get tired again.

So I'll tell you a story.

It's 9 o'clock. Joey has gone to fetch us some dinner and left me at Ross. I need to buy a few things, like a bow tie and a sports bra. You know, normal stuff that people buy from discount stores at 9pm.

After half an hour of wandering and finding neither sports bra nor bow tie (thrilling, I know) I meander up to the checkout area. I have just one item in my cart--a shiny silver soap dish. I hate checking out with one random item but I sincerely like and need this soap dish. This soap dish will fit in that stupid little nook next to the faucet handle, and bars of soap will actually fit inside the dish, so even though I feel silly, there is no way I'm putting it back and abandoning the cart.

The only other people in the store are an Indian woman and her daughter, and they are already in line ahead of me. Mother is heckling the cashier about getting a 20% discount on a handful of items and the daughter is struggling to hold all the other items not yet on the counter.

While I wait in line I peruse the assortment of junk food. It's mostly jelly beans. I hate jelly beans. I'm hoping for a bag of those mini gummi bears (Yes, they are MINI gummi bears. They are tiny and delicious and freakin adorable.) but have no luck.

Meanwhile Joey and I are texting back and forth. He's asking why I'm taking so long, and I tell him about the Heckler and her daughter. He says that the husband/father is outside smoking a cigarette and uses an irritated emoji, and I laugh quietly. Joey is tired and cranky. He threatens to eat dinner without me in the car and I explain that the Heckler is about to leave, so he should watch the door to see this tiny little girl holding a bag twice as big as her filled with--who knows what.

Maybe they bought all the sports bras and bow ties.

The cashier greets me, I greet her, and I set my pretty soap dish on the counter, only to be interrupted by a jarring BE-E-EP, BE-E-EP, BE-E-EP. 

The Heckler turns around, looking furious that something has set off the alarms, and the Heckler's Daughter looks disheveled. I take away my soap dish just in time as they slam Santa's Bag of Toys (or bag of sports bras and bow ties) back on the counter, narrowly escaping soap-dish-death.

To avoid awkwardness I keep looking at the junk food while the Heckler continues heckling. There's a bag of regular-sized gummi bears and I quickly text Joey just as the Heckler and the Heckler's Daughter are leaving again.

"Do you want 4lbs of gummi bears?" I ask him.

I put the soap dish on the counter. The cashier apologizes for the delay, I dismiss her worries, and just as she's putting my receipt in the bag I check my phone one last time.

Joey's response: YES.

Another transaction is made as I purchase the gigantic bag of deliciousness.

Meanwhile, Joey has seen the Heckler's Daughter and the huge bag of whatever.

"THAT IS A CRAP TON OF CRAP," he texts me.

When I finally exit the store I see the Heckler's Husband putting out his cigarette. Their minivan is parked next to us, where my husband is blasting Murder Train. (A joke, for anyone who has ever watched How I Met Your Mother.)

I get one last text message: "!!!!!!!!!!!"

As he increases the volume I raise the bag gummi bears above my head in victory.

I may have no bow ties, no sports bras, no sleep, and no sanity.

But I will now have a handful of gummi bears and attempt to go back to bed.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

NPM Day 9 {Suki (On Being Both)}

I channeled my nerdy side for this one. Only a few dear friends will get the reference (hopefully) but as hard as I tried to deflect these nerdy words toward some other topic... it just couldn't be helped.

I am what I am, I suppose.

Suki (On Being Both)
February 21, 2017

These are solid reflections
on being both
one thing and another but
they are facets,
not opposing forces.
I am one thing, but
also another.
I have always been a fighter,
sometimes only fighting
to belong in the fight.
You think I am not able
to have courage and comfort
in the same breath,
but you can touch me,
you can feel my heartbeat,
and you must know
that I am a rhythm filled
with both passion and aggression,
love and rage, all withheld
until I am certain of my mark.
I am both nurturing
and combative,
a mother and a murderer,
and in the same daylight
can thirst for revenge
or find myself tender
in the wake of another’s darkness.
I am a warrior, but
I am a woman too.
And this body longs
for blood or retribution,
for a caress or a companion,
and what relief it would be
to be understood in my ability
to hold a sword or a hand
and still be known.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

NPM Day 8 {Even You}

Even You
August 18, 2016

It is not for sinners,
vagabonds encrusted
by a lifetime’s angry soiling.
It is not for the redeemed,
the purified or vilified
or sanctified by
personal efforts.
It is not for your goodness,
for your righteous silence,
or task-oriented piety.
It is not a compensation
for your surrender
or your gratitude
or your penance.
It is not earned
but wholly entrusted,
thrust upon you brazenly
that may often feel
like a reward
but can weigh you down
like someone else’s burden.
And it is not delivered
because you asked,
even though you may.
It is given
because we are all in need.
Even you.

Friday, April 7, 2017

NPM Day 7 {All I Have Left}

All I Have Left
November 10, 2016

I give up.
I give up.
It’s a lie, but I’m saying it.
I give up.

I don’t want an explanation.
You don’t have to give me answers.
Those are lies, but I’m saying them.
I give up.

You don’t have to tell me why,
or say how long I have to wait.
I’m lying, but who cares?
I give up.

All I really want is comfort.
Touch me and I’ll be fine.
That’s the truth, it’s all I have left,
but in regards to everything else

I give up.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

NPM Day 6 {Vicious Grace}

Vicious Grace
December 7, 2016

Belief has given power
where none was found
or could be made,
and we hold it at arm’s length,
pausing to receive
a gentler truth
we might pass on.
But there is still
grief in this voice
and there is still
anger waiting in the dark
and still
a vicious grace.
It comes out in all our words,
it blinds the weak
and rattles nerves,
and still for all our trembling
and that which we give away,
written in dusty margins
or tucked in a lover’s coat pocket,

we still believe.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

NPM Day 5 {Practical}

October 2, 2016

I felt it today.
Between zipping up my jacket
and the realization
I wore the wrong shoes for rain.
You were always so
but your amusement did not follow
my foolishness today.
I could feel your spirit
leaving me,
turning through the air,
fading like wisps
from cradled teacups.
Your absence is
a settled weight
pulling down the shutters
then collapsing at the window
and I can hardly bare it,
knowing you are gone.
I felt it with such strength
when we said goodbye
I swallowed the pain
and now it sits like a rock,
holding me here in the dark.
I have held you closer
than expected,
but like every breath
of fresh air
I must let you go

or we will both cease to be.

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

NPM Day 4 {Still}

August 15, 2016

if you are near
as near as breath
as near as touch
wash over me

and be nearer still
be closer still

as close as a kiss
as close as a heartbeat
as close as blood
wash over the inside

for I am a vessel
be inside my heart
be inside my soul

be nearer
be closer still
wash over me
wash over and fill

as close as a memory
as close as you were
inside my thoughts

as close as this moment
as close as sunlight
as close as love

Monday, April 3, 2017

NPM Day 3 {Crystalline}

September 30, 2016

You used to say
you were too prismatic
and I’d hate all of your other sides.
I never believed you,
I didn’t believe it,
even when I saw
that crystalline dagger
coming for me.
And no one believed me
when I said you were beautiful,
when I believed in your beauty,
when I put all my hope
in the colors
I swore I saw
from my point of view.
But that damned perspective
saved my life so many nights,
even when I cursed at you,
even when I regretted you,
even when I simply
your dark side
for what I thought
must have only been the first time.
And all these years later
I still call you a hero
though we haven’t spoken
and we haven’t reconciled
and we’ve thrown all our love
out of the light.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

NPM Day 2 {Beckoned}

April 2, 2017

The Oregon sun was petulantly dry,
the earth beside the road quiet and choked
with enchanting travelers' dust, clustered
with tiny mountains sharp, yellow rocks
between blinding white daisies or
a thrush of persistent dandelions.

A short climb through grass on the left
led to dragonflies, green and blue,
darting over the river stones and gerridae
and the sun was not cruel but tender
as water rolled and gushed around boulders,
thundering to be freed over the falls.
To the right the ground sloped, ending
abruptly, giving way to the truth below
where waters dangerous and blue beckoned,
and it was there I flung my tiny body
over the cliff, into the deep, feeling my feet
just touch the murdering rock below the surface.

If I close my eyes I can still feel the sun
purifying the gold in my long hair,
and the air around me cooling in descent
just before the water meets me gladly,
devouring me up from my toes as
I plunge myself into the unknown, and
wondering almost infinitely--
if I break the surface, will it break me?

Saturday, April 1, 2017

National Poetry Month 2017 - Day 1 {From the Back Door Looking Forward}

I may have lost my motivation to blog regularly. But I'll never grow out of poetry, and I'll never not participate in National Poetry Month because, well, I have no good reason to abstain. It's funny, though. A whole year later and not much has changed, not on the inside, and yet on the outside my life looks entirely different. A completely new cluster of friendships have emerged and therefore a whole new group of people will be privy to experiencing this side of me.

This will go the same way it always does. I'll give you titles and original dates. If there's a relevant backstory I'll include it. Here is Day 1.

From the Back Door Looking Forward
June 23, 2016

Absorb my fears
into your trembling hand.
Prophesy my tears
into the burning sand.
My voice
will soak barren lands,
will move mountains
strong and grand.
But did you know then
what I hope to know now,
before peasants rose up
and emperors bowed?
I am the dessert
to be soothed.
I am the mountain
to be moved.