I have things to do tomorrow
that will knock my softness
out like teeth,
but one day, I know, I will wake up and smile
full.
I will see my dog sprawled
on the dirty floor with
a leaf stuck in her hair.
my sisters door will be
slightly ajar and still, like words
caught in my mouth.
cars will rush by outside, people and days
and hopes and heaviness passing
unknown, unneeded.
there will be a cup half full on the counter,
vitamins laid out on
a paper towel, with a heart scratched into it,
simple and messy and
a million things in a single
shape.
sunshine will fall through
open windows, and I will feel that light is
freedom now.
light is freedom and the future and
memories and now.
I will catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror,
and, finally, let it go.
I will wake up.
maybe the day
after tomorrow, or the next day, or the next,
and I will let my softness be
a certain thing, like a wave
coming home to the shore,
or the trees painting their leaves for the
autumn, or the sound of the front door
opening in the evening, or the feel of a
promise held together by my own hands.
I will wake up, and I will smile fully, loudly,
unwavering.
-V
