There's peace in eventuality,
the way things fall.
Then there's the inbetween.
There, I'm a ghost between two worlds,
doing what I must but wishing
that just once,
I wouldn't have the weight of them
both on my shoulders.
At the inbetween I try
to find solace like a hatchling
finding her mother.
It's so difficult.
Everywhere I step there are
thorns infesting the ground,
for a time when these thorns refuse
to grow again,
when these egg shells put
themselves together again.
The solace can be different every time -
there's the nearly tamed wolves that sprawl on my bedroom floor,
wordless things that listen to me forever and always,
or wordful things, stained trees on a wooden shelf.
There's the mother of all these things, my own,
her hugs are like melting chocolate,
but most often the only solace is the winding branches,
the tangled wires of the thing most familiar to me.
Grown out of flesh and blood,
not much more than a child,
here the solace is called Myself.
The Myself that knows the self in all
the hurt I carry,
joy I carry,
why?s I carry.
I find my solace in the center of my earth.