True Things

a poem

I was not afraid
At eight of writing my heart out
People have done amazing things
Not by luck or virtuosity
But by trying and changing
But by letting waves erode and rearrange

My baby got sick and I was lost in it
I got through it but I’m not who I was
The thing that I prayed to for twenty nine years disappeared
I got through it but I’m not who I was
How my father still preaches on Sundays
And my wish for invisibility
I am still listening

I’ve been out looking for old selves now
I’ve been reading the books off my shelves now
One about working on a song
How some lines come short
How some lines come long
And it’s still not yet
What it will finally be