Wherewithal
she was
born
without
a mother
of ease
or ignorance
or the luxury of means
for an orphan
bore her
one raised
behind a door
behind the eye of a child
witnessing the worst
of human weakness
the humility of hatred
the rage that knows no bounds
the loneliness of self-reliance
the betrayal of trust and safety
the abuse of position and power
the loss of what it means
to be little
but even an orphan knows the truth
that there’s always a choice …
before a tone turns deafening
before a hand becomes a weapon
before a drink becomes a poison
before a room becomes a prison
before a mask becomes a monster
before it’s too late for sorry
for someday
no apology can change
past transgressions
and the orphan lies awake at night
wondering
if the child she bore
will ever understand
what it is
to be free
truly free
to fly
above the cloud
and touch the color
taste the rain
feel the ray
see the blue
and know
that even when
the sky turns
and lightning burns the clouds black
and not a breath of wind can ease the ache
and not a drop of rain can reach the eye
and not a note of song can find the tree
let there be
but a remembering
of good things
that within the enormity
of loss
there is the smallness
of a word kept kind
that when felt
becomes gold
a gold greater than wealth
greater than all possession
all power
all greed
greater
still
TL