To Emily Mae Stokes; to the child citizen within us all:
You must exercise your right to observe without judgement
and find in every other the source of sincerity.
Use your senses to feel the road. Use your faculties
to capture every day. Every sweet instant is followed by something other.
So, put down your false reflective screens.
You must commit to loving with such a clarity
that even the graceless are pulled out of their muddle.
(This poem was written as a homage and response to Emily Mae Stokes’s If you do not rebel by loving, you will find yourself painting the wrong portrait published in Nimrod Vol. 61, Nr. 2.)
Photo by Dimitar Belchev on Unsplash
The boxes on the hillside weren’t meant to last. They kept out the spiders and mould for as long as they were cared for; eventually no one cared enough to sweep and polish and mend.
Like peeling paint on cladding, once-held ideas shed in slivers and revealed a void that used to be invisible to dream-led minds.
When a better way of being came into reach, the people left to live closer to the trees.