Real Human
Me: Can you help me polish this mirror of my heart?
The relentless attempt to control
is a dry vortex
in my throat
distracting me from polishing the mirror.
You: Problems are external,
yet they emerge from the dark cave within.
Look within.
Use your imagination to see the deepest point of center inside you.
Me: Like that sunrise this morning?
pricking up through the gash of telephone wire and pole
humbling the fearful flickering lights of the cities.
A street, wide at my periphery
a point in the center
at the end of my vision, the sun.
You: Understand that I am you and you are me
even though we could find some way to be
the opposite ends of the spectrum.
Me: Back to that sunrise
infinitely consistent
regardless of if I see it or not.
You: To not be seen is a banishment.
Me: Back to the mirror of my heart.
You: Polish it often
and swaddle the banished like a newborn child
in your arms.
Comfort the innocent.
The only problem we have:
We are the ones who animate suffering.
who birth it into being.
who make it with our hands
and throw it at our reflections.
Me: It does not have to be that way
Love is all encompassing.
It has no opposite.
You: Do you know where love radiates like a sun right now?
where it is expanding like summer
deepening like the oldest tree’s roots
Where it nestles into hidden tender places
inside the earth of our bodies?
It is where the martyrs live and die
and show each other their polished mirrors
amongst the dust and rubble.
