Where can you be soft, she says,
to the jaw locked on snatched back
words, splintered bone of grief
to these eyes wanting water yet stung
with the wary wait, these shoulders —
a country of others’ sighs, dust
of wayside dreams.
Where can you be soft, she asks,
of these sharpened ears, match-struck
chest, this quaking world on edge.
If you let go, the body
will give, open
up, unraveled tongue
and waterfall spine, flow
of heat and truth.
Naming it isn’t necessary, what finds
the splayed throat, upturned heart.
Here you are safe, resting
in this motion. Here you are all
yours and all you need to be —
this poem, lines on a mat
facing home, a flower
in split stone.
The Traveling Light 
Oh Naila, Maya Angelou has NOTHING on you . . . 💖
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YUM!! did Dodge have a hand in this? Thanks for sharing that amazing time with me…now, off to write! oxox
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I wrote this before Dodge but for some reason the post never went up. What a glorious gift to have that time together! I’m still trying to hold onto the glow. xoxo
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Oh Naila, please oh please Naila begin the journey to publish a collection of your poems. You are so incredibly talented!! Dodge Festival needs to have you there reading your works!
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Aaahh, thank you, my dear friend. Sometimes I still dream of an MFA (the thesis is often compiling a manuscript) … and one day I will gift you with one of the very first signed copies 🙂
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