Opportunities for Stillness

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Months of healing ahead

seemed a prison,

a sentence of no action,

and me tracking the sun

across the day a way

to move time.

At the bank,

a retired black man,

warm, inviting eyes,

who’d been in my shoes,

said, “Healing is

an opportunity for stillness.”

Which knocked me down.

His big, wide smile

I could’ve disappeared in.

We reached out,

touched fingers

and I was left with stillness.

These are the family names,

hearts retired young:

Tom, Jack, Brad and Jack.

Remember.

Reach for the bottle

and lets regale them,

and tell stories long since

heightened, festooned

with gold leaf, crystal,

elements that lend

themselves to elevation.

We are travelers,

with opportunities for

stillness. We are diviners

for justice. We are

perpetrators burrowing

into the unknowable.

We can’t know when

that moment comes,

when our lives move

into silence, into

air echoing with all

that has gone before, but

nights are opportunities

to hold each other close,

in a stilled cluster,

as twins are in the womb,

dreaming of the day

you come out gasping,

knowing that you

can be alive again.

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