you are a victim of circumstance
you are not a victim of circumstance
you are a present, within a circumstance
you are passing through, a circumstance
you stir to the bottom
you stir to the top
out of the middle or spring board existence
She sat on a disappearing chariot, infant of an empty canvas, giving voice to legal documents and filed photos. she spit out words and sentences, metaphors and declared errors. "he was wrong". "she didn't help". "she couldn't help". "I have everything" "I have nothing" she says.
letting her grief
letting her disappointment
letting the prideful pity of the outsiders, roll up over her, like a crashing wave, she looks for averted eyes
and fear.
if you have known only pain, how can you seek or feel deprived from anything else.
is it not foreign
is it not an anomaly
but she pantomimes your response
and you recognize your own stolen tears
finding yourself open and vulnerable to anything she asks, because
only you can save her
only, what you have, can keep her
keep her//where she is at.
