it’s night in the year 2019
i have been in my bed for two hours, reading
stomach working on a dinner
of wild rice with onions, green beans,
and thyme-dressed chicken
i made for myself in under an hour.
in some ways, now, my life
is very peaceful. i live
mostly in memories or in the quiet
space of my breathing, at rest
in bed, behind a closed door.
as i wrote eleven years ago
my room is once again my moon,
and only i breathe its atmosphere.
what does it mean to know
that i’m living in a type of peace
i’ve known in only the most difficult moments
of my past?
to come to be reminded that solitude,
which used to feel an enemy
to run from, is now my safest home?
there are two voices in me—
one that says this is defeat, and i will die here
and one, gentler, that tells me:
you are learning something that will save you
in deeper depths to come,
that will bring you from those gulfs
to the security of self- and other’s love.
i wait, for now, in the warm nest
of being alone. i let the gentle voice grow
in persistence and firm tone,
still and small like a mind before me wrote,
but never failing.
this is my moon, my room, intact
as i am becoming whole.
