I look for miracles.
Because I am suffering, we are,
each of us, orphaned.
So these hieroglyphics hopefully helped,
are helping and will.
My self, your self, ourselves.
What trivializes any of us.
May we carve out a leaf-shaped heart.
So in my ethical loneliness,
my outreach is poetry. It is.
Prompt: It’s been a while. Well, because each of us need silence too. It’s been noisy in other ways. Too noisy. I read a bit of poetry today. And it taught me about protection. And burial. It’s about how robins would cover a corpse with leaves and twigs. The heart maybe, too. Here’s how it ends:
Even cats shied away from it, as if they
too knew not to harm that winged heart.
I wonder if it had just finished another
sad business–if someone once exposed
and alone is now wrapped–stitched neatly
into this ground with beak, wing, air.
–Aimee Nezhukumatathil, “How the Robin’s Chest Became Red”
Write about protection and burial.