I Want You to Know
Let it flow
I want you to know who I am.
Child. I am poor. I am electric. I am the shade of lavender that separates the navy sky from the deep orange.
I have grown used to the piles of ash that grow up around me. A garden of grey. No they are not burning anymore. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t fire still among all these pillows. The lilacs — high, courtly flowers — survey devastation and growth alike.
I am inserted into dialogue. Not about me: around me. I cannot hear all the things that are said. Only following, always, relentlessly, the shape of mouths as they head backwards through their weeks. This lipreading makes me tired. Makes me swallow my head to listen to the heart. And there the wash of amber, of frankincense takes away the bitter taste of pepper.
I am forever coming into the page. Who is it that speaks? I tell you it isn’t me. It is a shape of eternity. The universe’s second coming. Or the first. I can’t tell you that yet. Only that the stars are forming new constellations, have printed out new cards that lay themselves out for the broken to gaze at as they weave among the rocks.
I am the last needle on the jack pine. I was the one who wanted to be at the top. Scanning the wind for new flavours. I want to bleed this green so that others may drink. And be lifted…
