What the heart sees from under its break is
always true. When I had cancer and Grandma
died, that moment erupted, a silent explosion
that sent her away and deeper into me at the
same time. When the sun came up behind
that mountain on the way to Santa Fe, my
soul somehow knew it was safe to creep back
into the world. When I was afraid in every
direction, the only place my heart could chew
was in the meadow of now. It’s as if we carry
a very soft emblem of the fire of life way inside
and we are hardened to keep it from going out.
Then one day a bird we’ve never seen pokes at
the window and we think nothing of it but every-
thing within us knows it’s time. And the hard-
ened places start to crack and the heart stirs
from its waking sleep. And all the softness
we’ve carried since birth is suddenly at the
mercy of wind and rain. Now when I see you
rubbing your hand, I feel all the things you’ve
held. Now when I see the snow cover the trees,
I hear the story of every tree. Now I am forced
to stop on track 19 at Union Station, letting
everyone rush on by, feeling their filaments
of soul flicker.