Poem relationship Marina

When you open the stall door and see a protest stick stuck in a toilet bowl, above a single silver spoon on the linoleum and its silent at 9 am.
You know you are in a college dorm.
It’s a privilege, this freedom.
Don’t forget it.

When you’re puking red wine and waking up to headache lectures in between people straddling borders and making survival look like poetry.
It’s a privilege.
Don’t forget it.

If time is a ribbon and it lengthens and breaks, folds and gets stitched back together and stained with coffee and painted with tiny animals. What then about the ones who came before us?
Are we the earth or the quaking?
The writers or the characters?
Are we the now or the history?
What if education isn’t an option?
Buckets and gourds are the mandatory prerequisites, fire the test, childbirth and war the final exams?
How that life could easily be mine.

When you open your car door and fluster the phone, purse, Hydroflask and the beepies scream: Seatbelt – Seatbelt! And it takes forever to make that first turn, see the cross on the other side of the road. The flowers below it that will never get a chance to go anywhere. Will never know freedom until death, until wind brings options and only then, rooting into a new forever. They will never know the beepies.
It’s a privilege!
Don’t forget it.

When a lover says okay. I will bend. I will not challenge you or ask you to explain your feelings. In fact I require nothing of you. Just the fact that you’re here, you’ve chosen me is enough. This grace.
It’s a privilege.
It is easily lost.
Don’t forget it.

How will we all change if we just accept each other as we are?
The monster squawks in his tower. His radios crackle, his whips tremble on their hooks.
Telling someone they’re wrong never inspired anybody.
Acceptance has.
But the monster takes his .22 and that voice is now a pile of sticky wet feathers on concrete.
Don’t take it for granted.
I’m talking to you.
Maybe it’s not the words so much as the delivery.
See, I said a bad thing.
I was selfish.
Rude.
Greedy.
I wiped off the counter, finished and he stared at me.
When it dawned on me I looked at the floor.
When the silence was all used up he said,
“Well. Your heart is in the right place.”
And only then could I see it.
This grace!
It’s a privilege.
Don’t forget it.

Image Credit: Marina Galvin

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