A golden shovel poem after Sinead Morrissey
After learning to be lonely for no one, and
letting go of moments in which it seemed impossible to forgive,
we will be reminded of what it felt like to say us,
to give and take belonging, ownership of another, our
bodies tangled in the darkness beside our trespasses.
We will have let go of the power of
grief, let the softer things flood our minds, those things which
brought us to touched places years ago. At the end of it all, the
anger is the last thing that matters. The first
feeling, as it was in the beginning, as if it had never been away, is
joy: inviting and unmistakable, two bodies and the promise of love.
After learning to be lonely for no one, and
letting go of moments in which it seemed impossible to forgive,
we will be reminded of what it felt like to say us,
to give and take belonging, ownership of another, our
bodies tangled in the darkness beside our trespasses.
We will have let go of the power of
grief, let the softer things flood our minds, those things which
brought us to touched places years ago. At the end of it all, the
anger is the last thing that matters. The first
feeling, as it was in the beginning, as if it had never been away, is
joy: inviting and unmistakable, two bodies and the promise of love.