Mary-
I am calling out to you in the dead of night
But my voice is only a whisper compared to yours
I am breathing your truths into my bones
Until I am convinced they are my truths
How easy it is to convince myself of our lineage
When the sounds of the pines echo back at me,
Your language.
Everything around me,
Echoes back your language.
Pointing at me and hissing,
And claiming I do not belong here like you do.
These are my words,
These are the words of the achingly innocent
Convinced they are drowning.
Convinced that every strand of lyricism
Is another breath to their tired bodies
Convinced that Mary was right when she said,
“You do not have to be perfect.
You only have to be good.”
And so, I settle the four corners of my feet
Like cardinal directions in the grassy earth
Pointing me to not one way but all ways-
Pointing me to not one truth but all truths-
Pointing me to every corner with every strand of hope I will cling to
Like the human I am,
Anchoring down through my soles.
