I'm going to read one last poem for you,
and this is for anyone struggling any day, every day.
It's really hard out there, I think, out here, in here,
wherever we are.
This is one of my--
it comes from newer work.
I want to lean towards hope and joy some day.
Your shadow invents you every time light
fails to pass through you.
Some days, you wake to the sound of smoke
pouring through the keyhole in the room.
Open your eyes, this is only a test.
The blue ink of your hands can be anything you want.
The bruised dawn, like a river rising to your windowsill.
A purple forgetting how blood leaves the body in ruin.
A forsaken lip smeared in thirst resting on your lip,
as though your skin could salvage
the dream of being so touched.
Listen, I know you're afraid.
I am too.
I know how the body prays for beauty
but remains a shipwreck you are building in my image.
How many books are enough to tell you you're alive today?
How many days end up all dark, and the monsters
of your childhood appear like saints erased of their mouths?
How the mouth cradles a tongue carved by years in exile
until it's ready to shape a word like a parting handful
of promised wild flowers.
Happy Mother's Day.
This is you at the edge of a paradise growing back
after being scorched from the face of Earth.
This is us, afraid of the men who failed to kiss us goodnight
and step through the walls.
Some days, you are living a nightmare.
Some days, a miracle as wide as a spared life.
Listen to me.
There will be a day when the world will need you most.
Be alive on that day.
I vow your father is as American as the bones
your mother grew inside you.
The gunshot in your head is only a shadow puppet.
A slow explosion of a field of qém'es in early June's bloom.
Look, look at the colors like little gods on fire,
hurtling in and out of each other's terrified skies.
Are you still alone in bed?
Is it morning yet where you are?
The smoke turns to rain as usual.
Listen, my love, this year is just a visitor
and next year's ghost.
Take care of it because, yes, yes, you
do deserve flowers for once in your life.
You will be the only one left, so hold my hand
and call me tomorrow.
We are all here.
It's OK.
It's OK to be this afraid.
I am you.
Can you feel that?
Yes, that is the whole world outside moving without us,
but listen to me.
Listen, here's the light, an arm's length away.
The ceiling reforming above you like another heaven
after its own self destruction.
Here's my body and you stretching life long
toward every hole in the house left
as warm as a father running from horizon to horizon.
Don't be afraid, touch me, here, where some days it hurts.
Get up, get dressed, open the door.
Qe'ci'yew'yew.
Thank you.
Next will be Jennifer, Jennifer Foerster.
Looking forward to this.
Thank you.