I love you, chickadee

22 03 2017

It’s just you and me, chickadee

in this labor called life

You and me to toil beside each other

to face the dismantling of our body

(our poor, tortured, blameless body

that we neglect

and scrutinize in turns)


You and me to pick each other up

in the aftermath of inevitable unkindness

and disappointment from other people

(how CAN they be so callous

and how CAN they be so inattentive

and how CAN they fail to witness you

time and time again)

They are only they and themselves too

and really, chickadee,

were you really there EVERY time they needed you?


I believe in you, chickadee

you are where the poems come from

the one who notices the magnolia blossoms

so white and heartbreaking

against the dark morning sky

the one who tells me to love people

and objects and animals and the sky

even though it’s painful

and humiliating and I am ashamed


And I’m sorry, chickadee

for all the times I punished you, called you names

and told you to be different, to shut up or to go away

because you are the one who dreams inside

who sees the small shoots growing through the cement

and cries


I will protect you, chickadee

when your feelings get too big

and they start to turn inward

when you start slashing at the walls of our home

(which is our body and our self)

I will be there to take the razor from your hand

hold you and tell you that we are all alone

but it will be alright, chickadee




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