things they don't tell you
limestone is beautiful because
it doesn’t ask for attention; it just
keeps eroding – building in negative space:
slowly, quietly, with patient persistence
and kind capitulation that makes
you want to stand under it.
i would know a boy who was
struck by lightning; he would give
me butterflies; we would grab
hands and run under a dirty
sky: heads high, hearts open.
a ghost doesn’t need a house;
they don’t take up much room,
and anyway, they’d rather be flying
through the atmosphere, blatantly
defying the no-re-entry signs.
if you keep moving until the lump
in your chest is no more, until the
inner morning is felt once again,
you will be able to receive the
new chapter: new joy, new
pain, new doubt, new love-gain.
© 2014 Michelle Warner