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They do not tell you

they do not tell you
when you are young
that you will spend most
of your life alone
that there will not always
be gatherings
of those you love
like crows on a power line
where commiseration
intersects errands
and appointments

they do not tell you
when you are young
about the internal landscape
occupied only
by you and your history
your memory
your future
your past
an enormous place
that spans from horizon to horizon
distant and obscured
in the blur of the day to day
until a breeze lifts the dust
to reveal a forgotten door
radio music slips like a key into the lock
and stepping through
you find
the were
the was
sitting quietly
repentant child
yellowed photo album open
on her lap
a box with a ring that used to
mean something

they do not tell you when you are young
because your heart would break into
a thousand pieces
and the sun would cease to rise and
birds would be forbidden
from opening their wings
to fly

they do not tell you
when you are young that
one day
you will survive the empty
that you will plant something new
in this secret garden
and when you are whole again
you will cut a wild flower there
to carry out and place in a vase on a table
where it can be seen
by your grown children
who will then understand that
you have lived
more than they know.

Learn more about this author, Francesca Grace.
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