Welcome The Still
Twenty years old — part 4
when I turn twenty,
with open arms, I’ll welcome no one,
but the rustic door should never slam;
he sleeps on the song’s shoulder,
spirits move curious about corners,
cold nights stress the eye to close,
nobody thinking on next moves,
see how the ladle turns slowly,
this is the warm geometry of winter,
my breath solemn waited outside,
but can you really blame him?
there was never a right decision,
but it felt right, and I feel better
under this bed of brown coats.
This is the twelfth poem, “WELCOME THE STILL (20, pt. 4),” from my tenth poetry collection, pre-twenty anxieties. I am well into twenty by the time I publish this poem, so I instead share it as a reminder of my one-year self’s wishes, aspirations, and desires. Sometimes, it feels more like I’ve aged five years since I was nineteen. Others it feels like I haven’t changed an inch. Or perhaps, the progression of the human body and spirit doesn’t work like that; the struggle for balance persists, even as we inch closer to our center. If anything, the center becomes further protected by Norns and Nopales to confuse and dissuade you the closer you get. I am slowly coming to accept that those things are bound to happen — but to the benefit of my personal growth.
— Chicano poet from Southern California
