A poem by Robin Gorn
To those who stayed on charred landscape with
Ash on their face
Sifting through bones to make soup
Pointing the way though mute
I am grateful for the heart’s expansion
For dry grass that stayed standing
For the tree in the fence
So grateful for the passion
And the worlds it creates
Feed me your story
Of your time in the tunnel
Show me
The path that you dug to get out
Show me the shape of your shovel
Was it diamond or spade or tooth and nail?
Show me the rage that drove you
and the dreams of your youth
show me the great returning
of your child’s clear truth
The heart is not complicated
Though the path is unclear
Show me the dress you were wearing
Show me the weave of your cloth
Show me the places
Of your tearing
That flounce when you walk
Show me the time you spent staring
At things beyond your grasp
internally preparing
simply to ask
I stepped off the carousel
So used to the spin
The pie cut too thin
Do you remember the park
Of our sharing and the
Dreams left within?
The songs were unspoken
The words were unsung
The voice felt broken
The thread undone
But the silent
Were weaving
Their prayers to the sky
The cycle is returning
Bearing fruit in our
Pie
We’ve always
Been hungry
We’ve always been full
We’ve always been empty
While spinning the wool
You picked up my leaf and
Made it into a tree
Just by bearing witness
To the witness
In me
By Robin Gorn
