We sound like the crack in the floor
We inherit gestures if nothing else
Can be stolen.
There are fingerprints left on so many words I didn’t want
But exit my mouth anyway
There is evidence of your blood in my fingertips,
in my every breath.
And evidence more sadly in this little one’s uncertainty
her confusion as to whether this means life
Or a means to an end.
I try to erase hopelessness for the unit
Believe that we can become something
other than whom we know.
That in teaching
I created myself into someone else
and created children
into new leaders of the world and their own decisions.
You are my blood, woman
my roots, my confusion
on weary days when the world seems like too, too much
to be real your book will be yours
and my book will be mine
no matter what we’ve said or done
no matter what’s been written
the horizon will still smile and say goodnight to us both.