Interlinked

By Nola Gordon

It means less now, don’t you see? 

My heart is worn out but that doesn’t mean it’s broken.

My throat is sore 

from dry heaving regrets and 

muffled prayers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t speak.

I’m not saying it doesn’t matter 

I’m saying it will be the driving force of why I continue on

my barefoot daydream. 

The grass is warm on the bottom of my feet, 

my soul wakes up

like thousands of knives hitting my body

as I break the surface of water

that was here before me

before anything. 

I exist within the uncertainty of blinding lights, 

I let my body move me to the rhythm of my heartbeat 

like a dance engraved in my bones 

that I knew 

even before I could know.

There are places scattered across a map

that will hold the family I create for myself 

in friendships and in love 

and in joy.

Unexpected encounters with a stranger 

that latch onto my heart and walk with me 

wherever I go.

I am home here, 

where the wind navigates the sea

where the rocks kiss the Earth

where I began as her 

and died as her

where I was born again 

when the sun finally rose out from behind the clouds. 

The weight of love is overwhelming to carry as 

I collect more and more,

but it feels lighter compared to the ache of loss,

the wound of broken perception 

where you exist in a world that feeds off your fear.