For the Sonorous

arebirth

 

     i sit on my own sternum weaving strings of discord into gold. pulling knots, frays and all that’s strung me out to fix a way back home to myself. wherever i left me, somewhere, lost along the way. the journey is long. i am tired of looking for rest in bodies. i’d rather rest here, beneath this soil. but Resilience slips from my breath with a sigh. works herself through these hands as if to say, this work is all for you.

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     so i reach down past the root. past crooked scars. past all the broken things i thought i became & i keep digging. ‘till i heave all the dirt up out of my lungs & finally...i can breathe again. lay all that’s buried me ‘tween the rows of my ribcage. this time, i sow seeds meant for the reaping. tuck them beneath the soul with a prayer and say, i forgive myself for leaving. with that, my eyes open a morning dew to greet me. say, I forgive myself for believing you less than whole, and I watch my skin stitch itself back together with a lesson in each crease. say, i forgive myself for choosing everything, except for me & with that, my ribs splay themselves open for a love that begins and ends here. here, in this laying of bones & dirt. where a death i thought would end me, has left me reborn.

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     i recall Joy before i ask her to remember me, and she falls over my limbs like rain. seeps into my roots and i know that at this end, i am still at a good start. that i can be mo(u)rning, sunshine or not. in all this grit beneath my nails & sweat trailing off the tail end of my brow. there is not a piece of me that has not been left behind. i do not name myself “aftermath”.  instead, i comb the weeds out my hair. braid each plait. adorn my head with the gold i’ve forged. each fibre a testament to the pieces of me that i forgot to name, but still remained. for the soul, quiet, but whispering i am still here. i am still here. i am still here.

    i say I am forgiven and my mouth opens with a smile. face set like a new day is promised. joy sprouts up out the hole in my chest like revelation on a sunday morning. this dawn is one i can call my own. a rebirth echoing a cry of relief for a bed where i can lay here & hereafter ‘til it is time to reap. i let the sun bathe me until i, too, shine again. there will be another morning. so i say to myself be gentle, you're blooming. the work is not done, yet.