Two-thousand and twenty
The year of hindsight
Of painful truth
Of pandemic
Of racism, revealed;
I find myself at a crossroads
But all directions are cloudy with fog
And it’s growing dark again
And so I stand still
Waiting for a sign
For a new path to show itself.
My chest aches
With held breath
As I busy myself with
The mundane
Like making dainty earrings
Out of someone else’s buttons
Like creating anew
From old
Like rescuing cast-off treasures
From thrift store shelves
Taking their photos
In bright daylight
To accentuate their perfect imperfections
And find them new homes
Where they might catch the right light
For another lifetime
And with more important things
Like mothering (trying to avoid smothering)
Like loving (and being loved)
Like trying to cling to sanity
In two-thousand and twenty
The year the world exploded
Into countless broken pieces
And countless opportunity
To put it back together
Better.
by Julie Blue 