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i hope you never stop singing
a songbird beloved who moves with intention
will find themselves in times of trouble
mother mary on their bustier—
a sight for those with the privilege to see.
stands on a paddleboard oaring towards me.
embodies a world full of pain in their bones
and their muscles and mind—
the will of some force that’s beyond understanding
waiting for a note to attune to and decides
while they wait they will sing anyway;
it helps them to be.
i hope you never stop singing, my sweet bumblebee.
i enter the conversation with gentle movements
loving sweet nothings sweet somethings substantial
i love them i love them so radiant gentle
no one could deserve them as they sing determinedly.
we sit on the dock by the lake and share stories and
secrets and heartwants and troubles
and worries and stressors and loves
from the six years or three years or
too many seconds since we last communed with the
spirits of nature or aliens telling us
to save the planet and stop making bombs can’t we
all love each other we hold hands and
cry when we need to and lie on the ground and do
stretches and quietly sing and make tea.
we have faith the ginger and turmeric lemon and leaves will help
soothe the hum in the background of long covid—the chronic
experience—life in and out of high levels of pain
we’ve adjusted to, sleeping and stretching
a cascade of moves through the hours to assuage the
pain we express and choose not to repress
we decenter we manage we bargain with, converse with—
that we embody.
we choose to live life melodiously.
Copyright ©
Marshall DeFor
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