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Thriving, not surviving
the slow cello accompaniment
wasn’t haunting
it wasn’t doubtful
it was the soundtrack for the path she was on
and it was trapped in a coda
trying to find some gravitas instead of just being in touch with her own
integrity
it was the difference between surviving and actually
thriving
it was the recognition of internal strength instead of that manic need to grip
control
it wasn’t too much to hope for
because it was underneath the layers of clothes and cologne and masks of assertiveness and cleverosity
it was about knowing what time the sun will rise tomorrow
and how much earlier the next day
it was about mastery of meteor shower tracking
and constellation counting
and telling mythstories to eager ears of children
it was about knowing if that smell of impending rain in the summer
required an umbrella
or just a willingness to be misted in a sprinkle
it was about waking up in the morning
not wondering any more
not worrying about absent gravitas
but knowing which rules
didn’t need to be followed
and which friend to visit unexpectedly
for it was all
about
the
grade 4 daisy chains
and 104 year old grandmothers
and the smell of the long grass
going to seed.
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Stephen Elliott-Buckley
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