No longer sisyphean,
this battle has reached
plateau.
On this precipice I see far,
I see wide,
I see futures framed
in gold light
as the sun comes up to say,
“it’s time to keep moving.”
Thirty years of winter
thaw like permafrost,
revealing all that was trapped
many forevers ago.
Clarity white like snow,
truth blue like glaciers,
and I in tiny dinghy
overwhelmed by the absolute
magnitude of it all.
I didn’t know the years
would pass so slowly,
ten feeling like twenty.
It’s always one more year
’til I’m healed.
Trying to make sense of it all
is like playing God,
categorizing storms as if
counting to five
could save a life.
I decide to stay.
Someone’s going to have to
pull all these bodies
out of the water,
after all.