December 29, 2020

this is a hammer

We are made of the same stuff, you and I. The same gravel skins our knees. 
The same terror shivers us awake at unkind hours, our dreams peopled with disaster. 
When spring arrives, we want to kiss the ground. When a lone seagull pecks at a fish,
we feel for the fish and recognize the seagull. The same nostalgia brushes our skin
at holiday tables. We cheer for underdogs and hopeless romantics and lost causes. 
When we pause at the intersection of west and east, one choice looks like a detour
and the other like letting go, and neither looks simple or clear. When we build one thing,
we destroy another, and when we destroy one thing, we are building another, and this 
is a hammer we carry always in our fists, and sometimes we make a door out of a wall,
and sometimes, we have to close our eyes and swing.