ARIA
I wait patiently in the front row taking in every note of your song,
adding in my own words every now and then,
perhaps in an effort to mimic the magic you create
but in truth I know I can never quite copy them right
because they are your own
and mine are my own
but they connect
and that is good
and I am home.
And in truth,
I know I am selfish
because although my world only started to spin in mid September of ‘89,
I sometimes forget mine is only a chapter in a story that was yours
and sometimes I mistakenly put your life in context of my own
but you have cried tears and smiled smiles that I will never know
and yet when I think that I am doing the same
you are there without an ounce of condescension
but with fierce love and a generational patience
from the other side of the planet to remind me I was not the first
and although I don’t always like it at first,
my soul becomes at ease and I feel less alone
and I wish I could replicate that shoulder bent so lovingly at my ear
but the shoes I am wearing are too big and I am not sure I will ever fill them.
I realize that in itself is also selfish.
The pedestals we create.
But please understand you were always my hero
not because you are a shining image of perfection
but because you are the most human person I’ve known
the most fearlessly human person I’ve known
and I only wish to know a taste of that bravery.
Still unfair, perhaps, but words are not enough to truly
describe the gratitude I feel to the universe for allowing me
to be an act in this opera started by generations of women
who sing in my DNA
and I hope they connect
and I hope they are good
because this is home.
And although words may not be enough
to convey the love that colors my blood
I hope it connects
and I hope you are good
because you are home.
Dedicated to my mother Aria L. Doe.
Originally published at Lyric Doe.
