He flings himself into the grass,
eyebrows knit. I am so
sad. As his emotion moves me
I feel it, I say. He glares,
It’s mine. You don’t feel it!
entering outrage and I
wake from my tight self-
containment. So many years
trying to remain inconspicuous
in the flood, building dams
and walls–so high–I’m still
tethered to the scene
of the crime. He clearly
doesn’t need my empathy, just
this empowered opening to dance
with the colors of his aliveness.
Watched now by all the obstinate
children in my lineage punished
for our own spirited being.
And just like that, he’s through
the spectrum and laughing with sheer
joy that heart sight yields in the
unobstructed waves of the truly free.
I’m pulled out of these old bones,
wrinkled skin plumping in this new
ringing space of love’s connection.