Friday, April 6, 2018


Where did this ache come from?
How long have I carried it
in my body? I have made it my friend,
and given it  a home. Made a bed
so it could sleep in until noon, a healthy
breakfast (or brunch) ready for it
before heading out to face the day.

Late at night I bring it back to bed,
wrap myself around it or let it wrap
itself around me, blanketed either way.
The ache is not a longing. It is not
a lack that desire worms its way into.
I have no name I might attach to it.
There are no flowers I can offer it
to draw it to me, no gifts to soften
the way it takes holds of me, no words—
I have only this one assignment:
What I will allow to make me a home.