It’s so beautiful to see you out there trying with the cracks in your forehead and the whispering feather lines just beginning to form around the corners of your mouth. The days are a quiet crystal snow falling upon us, we are buried soft, cold, slow. But somehow you keep that light in your smile and your chest.
Don’t let them frighten you, heaven is the most ordinary of things. A slate gray sky and nothing to prove any longer. No more reason to rage against the falling out of time.
I wish I could sleep. I haven’t slept in ages, I just sift through blackened hallways of the night which calls to me in fire, in butterfly wings made of excitable circles.
Enough about my crumbling. Tell me how you are. Tell me what hurts. Tell me everything. What does it feel like inside that porcelain skin? Isn’t this mad rain the soak of the end of time? Wouldn’t that be lovely and a relief?
Please forgive me. Something in the rise of your face takes me back to infancy, to helplessness and greed, to a love so innocent that the feeding only makes it hungry.
This woman in me, she is the tilting sand in the hourglass, a ring of wax candles, weeping and singing for the clouds which cover the moon. Her veins are a river of planets, deep angel blue.
This is yours, wear it inside out, hold it close as God and then set it free. This is a season which has come for letting go.
Thank you for being here. I’m so glad you came, this garden is only iron wire and rust without your stories. I think you are beautiful and it is okay to be awkward for your entire life. No one else’s eyes bend like yours, but I bet you hear that all the time. I think you are beautiful even with my eyes closed.
Now maybe try to get some sleep.
.
.
Allison Marie Conway 