We all know that
Real change is an inside job
But what about when the outside whirls past
Quicker than my heart has time to process
Than my veins have time to pump
This new blood
Refreshed with oxygen and optimism
Through all the cracks and corners in my body.
I’ve always had poor circulation,
I will admit,
And as my hands are turning purple with the cold
They are also perplexed at how to interpret
The emptiness that they now hold.
It’s different than the dearth they are used to
The longing for a warmth that fills,
It’s a void that is more exciting than deafening
An empty calendar
A blank slate
A glove that perfectly fits,
Ready to warm a palm that is so used to the pain
That comes with being numb.
It’s the feeling of the wind
Whipping back and forth
On exposed cheeks
Raw with vulnerability
Rosy with the hint of conviviality
that the first December cold brings.
And my life feels like a Polaroid blur
The shutter clicked just-so
in the moment in-between
And the upturning of the lips,
A flipping of the page
Frozen in time –
I’ve always liked the blurry images best.
There’s a story to tell,
A life that’s being lived,
Even if it is
Ripping me limb from limb
Until I learn
How to let the dust settle
Sink to the bottom
Make a home
Before once again
Tipping the hourglass.