In which the terms are non-negotiable

Let us talk about the darkness — the night
that has no gaslighting moon. But I have 
conditions. You cannot mention hope — 
with or without its wings. Dickinson wasn't
talking to you and me. And don’t promise 
light —or a dawn that will surely break. 
Physics was not custom-built for us. 

Don’t tell me I can choose: to be happy, 
to heal, to live, to overcome. Shut 
down the forks in the road, close all 
the doors, and for good measure, seal 
any window that might prepare to open. 

Let’s not speak of how we are complete. 
How we are enough. How we are bigger 
than the biggest storm. We know. We 
look at ourselves. In mirrors. In eyes. 
In raindrops. In the haze that divides 
possibility from now. We understand 
measure. We might understand reason. 

Don’t say we are made of the same 
things as the stars. Or Neptune. Or the 
black holes. Not for a moment has UY 
Scuti considered we might be cousins. 

And god. Let us leave god out of this. 

Pull another chair. Let grief sit with 
us like a friend. Let us tell it our 
saddest dreams. Let us hold hands, 
let us feel fire burn through us not 
like flames but like a fever, feel cold 
that chills, not like ice but like a tomb. 

Just for a moment, destroy euphemisms, 
masks, prettiness. Just for a moment, let 
it be the beginning. Let it be raw. Let 
it hurt. Let despair seep into ears and 
eyes and skin. Allow the world its 
ugliness. Allow the abyss its hungry 
depth. Allow sorrow to hold us close. 
Allow it to tell its side of the story. 

#Poetry