What I Became

In my alternate universe,

the embers of my pyre are cooling.

The flesh and bones

I threw into the fire

are done charring.

Only smoke and shadows,

are left.

In my alternate universe,

I blow the ashes of my ghosts

over new ground,

plant a seed

next to a tombstone.

Call it rebirth

and grievance

in the same mouthful.

In my alternate universe,

I don't sit in the rain to wash you away.

I don't cut myself open to forgive my father.

And don't watch myself bleed to honor my mother.

I simply sit in the quiet of a meadow,

where spring comes year round,

where the flowers only bloom once

and stay whole and holy.

I watch the moths

and I watch the butterflies,

landing and departing.

I watch my beautiful garden,

burgeon from cinders.

It writes its own poetry

in the air swelling with the smell of roses.

I call this my place of worship.

I call it revelation,

I call it Eden,

and then I call it home.