and on the third day i felt my voice huskier than usual
damage has been diminished. skin is warm. protective of its core.
never knew what it meant to be found until after i had lost everything.
the girl on the island was right.
she wrapped me in comfort reminding me there was the death rattle that freed a lost child…
humbled and vulnerable and pure.
i look at the tips of my toes and they’re what my great grandmother could never have imagined. they have been buried in sand,
dipped in lemongrass,
roughed up but wholly softened in years of journey.
are your eyes really open?
do you see where this could take us?
questioning, delving, sinking, and reemerging. my story begins anew each day and i look off to one side. you’ve heard my laugh. you’ve heard my giggle.
she listens as we sit across from each other and share that look. i exhale.
he gazes from the rungs and catches my eye. i know.
she pushes her wet nose to the crook of my elbow. i pause.
there is nothing i am not grateful for. blank pages open. tulips are everywhere.