More poetry! Be safe; be well. You matter.
love is not a wound,
not a piercing arrow that makes us bleed.
love is an invitation —
to open, to learn the intricate origami
of our own folded-in hearts,
untucking corners and allowing other hands
to smooth all the crumpled bits.
love is the bewildering delight of discovering
that our hearts were always so much
bigger than we knew.
somehow my art is
sticky-tongued magic, bright-pooled
i am a portal for music;
it rushes into my ears, mouth, nose,
sinks through skin to bone.
it finds the space between breaths
and fills my lungs with sound and color,
all my heartstains slipping free, vein by vein
in a brightening impossible flood,
quickening my life into bloom,
my voice into song,
my soul into joy.
[All poetry on this page © MRE ’21.]