I receive direction:
Channel Love.
Speak again, but softly this time.
It’s okay to be tender like the valves of a heart
that used to hurt incessant.
It’s all okay now.
Safety is an illusion, I am told,
and finally it all makes sense:
there is only one Home and I am It.
There are bricks for throwing through glass,
shattered windows abound in potholed neighborhoods.
But in the privatized ghettos,
Love stays being remembered.
The ache of hunger
twangs like an instrument, playing a tune that
I feel vibrating my nerves.
They simmer down sooner, now,
and I am calm for the first time in my life.
This is what I hear:
Channel conscientiously this time.
Speak only what is True
and very little else.
Speak it with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.
Embrace this new solitary hope,
stand up right and call yourself home.