I’m stealing this from the archives of my other blog. Because even 9 months after I tried to get it to sink in the first time, it’s still true…and beautiful.
After Cages
by Cin Salach
…Hold on for seeds and softness.
Hold on for windows and water.
Hold on to the heavens with your breath.
Hold on to the nest with your scream.
You are your own mother.
No one will ever love you more.
Learn to ride your memories
like a bird rides the sky.
Find the wind shifts,
let them lift you and turn you.
Roll the currents off your body
like the next word off your tongue.
Fly.
Welcome storms, sudden and serious.
Swim to the center.
Tread air.
History left you alone here,
don’t let the future do the same.
Grab it by the shoulders,
cup its face, stroke its cheeks,
look it in the eyes and say, “Future, baby!
I thought I missed you. I thought
I’d have to spend the rest of my life without you.”
Wink, flirt, kiss the future on the lips
and don’t be afraid to use a little tongue.
Hold on for sunshine and shadows.
Hold on to the earth with your feet
Hold on for nature to pick your heart,
break the locks and send you airborne
down the aisle bearing brilliant bouquets
of fire and flowers.
Hold on…
Because the future is flirting back.
Calling you by your name,
laughing at your jokes,
mooning about forever, forever…
and what do you think?
You think, “forever, forever…”
doesn’t sound very carefree.
And you should know.
But the future is on one knee now
even while you are midair,
discovering aerodynamics
and learning to avoid cliffs when you soar.
And the future is stroking that spot
on the back of your neck,
whispering in your ear,
“Do you want me or not?”
But you are feeling the wind in your hair, finally
after all these years
and the answer is almost too easy:
Send history packing,
but keep the future panting.
Claim this sky for yourself.
Make it sacred.
Declare it off limits to anyone
who isn’t madly in love with you.
Understand that not everyone will be.
But know that tomorrow will be waiting,
mouth open, tongue extended
to taste you.
Hold your breath for thirty years
then break the surface slowly,
skinless, liquid.
You are your own lover.
No one will ever love you more.
Tongue Twisted 