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By darwin Date: 2006 May 05 Comment on this Work [[2006.05.05.13.51.14221]] |
| Call me mother earth today. Call me the creator of life and the one who blows the wind after it rains. I want to be the one that is benevolent and serene, with cirrus in my eyes and stratus in my hair. But it doesn't seem possible to embody that. To have the wisdom of ages running through my blood, as the aqueducts through Rome. I cannot be the walls that have been built over history and still have my heart torn in the places it is. How does a heart mend when it is torn? Does it ever repair itself? Or does it learn how to beat a different way. Maybe that is how my heart is, pieces of earth and dust tattered and sewn together as a rag doll. My raggedy heart. But it's that heart that learned to love again, and now it beats for someone who holds me in the morning. Who turns his breath against my faith and I feel him before I see him. He's there in the nights when they crowd in and the darkness seems too close to fall asleep again. He sees me beautiful when my eyes are red from tears that come too readily, from my tongue that answers too quickly and my heart that seems to burn all the brighter for its sometimes pain. And I wish I could tell him how wonderfully he has mended this person. And for that I don't want to be mother earth. I don't want the wisdom that comes with serenity; instead I want the pain that comes with love. Because it's that pain that keeps me formidable and it keeps me alive. In those days when I need to remember what I have fought so hard in my life for. I have fought to keep my heart and to keep my eyes open and my tongue and mouth ready to bite. But for those moments when I am with him, it quiets. It remembers how slow life can be, and it remembers that love takes time, and it can take a life or maybe more. He is more of the earth than I am. The patient plates that move beneath us, and he moves beneath me. He keeps me steady as the ground would sway and open up and swallow me. To me I would rather have that fire, to feel his burning his steady flame of love than I would anything else. So today maybe I am his mother earth. I remember him. And I will continue to remember him when his eyes open in the next morning and he looks at mine, and there is more wisdom there than centuries could ever retain |