Stop Fighting

When humbled, we finally stop fighting— 

against life, against the tide of time, against

the avalanche of disappointment, if we can

outwait the stubbornness of our dreams. For 

every storm, no matter how fierce, dissipates 

itself. The question is how much damage 

it does while wearing itself out. Eventually, 

once broken open, once our soft center 

spits out its pearl, we try to put all that 

we’ve damaged back together. And no 

one tells us that the storm hurts itself. 

It guts its own center. Even the surf 

crashes into itself. All this to say, I’m 

sorry for the path of my storm. I know 

some things can’t be put back together, 

and we have to live with what we’ve done. 

In time, the hardest nut will crack and 

wonder why it took so long to lean into 

love. But now that we’re here, I don’t know 

what to say, other than, please, stay close 

for the time we have. Like flowers, we 

spend long hours underground, in the 

dark, all for these few moments of 

blossom that we never thought 

would come. 

A Question to Walk With: Describe one way you are still fighting what life is giving you, and one way you can practice stopping.

This excerpt is from my book of poems in progress, Returning to Where I’ve Never Been.

*Photo credit: Markus Spiske