Turn Your Palm
I invited you in to the mystery with an open hand.
I invited you in to the lap of love.
I walked you down a golden path
and touched your eyelids when you slept.
Then I turned away
and showed you a darker moon.
You live in the land of bothness–
without lost you can’t know found.
You stumbled like a lost, numb one.
You passed on pain,
covered another’s mouth,
raised an elbow against their cheek,
said “No, not that. Not you.”
It begins like that. It doesn’t begin
with an atom bomb or a vicious fight.
It begins with a small silver needle
that sews its way through and
says, I block this.
I do not want to hear that word.
I do not want to see that face.
Curve around it. Curve around everything.
Turn your palm over and become a listening bowl.
Yes: this will turn your convictions to dust
and feel like a slicing death.
What is dying is your prison.
Whatever you hear, let your heart
be a golden sieve to it.
-Tara Sophia Mohr