She. Difficult. Small.

She. Difficult. Small.

she had been aiming for greatness    
for the biggest impossible things    
she often achieved disappointment    

she is unearthing and tracing the roots    
of each wound, unwinding through time and space   
tree and river, mountain and highland   

she sees the whole and    
she sees nothing at all    
nothing beyond suffering    

nothing, that is, until she spies    
the smallest tracks across the sands    
or between two souls awakening    

the smallest tracks and anonymous acts    
revealed in the right kind of light    
and no other    

too bright or too dark    
she is blind    

but with the light of a small candle    
she can take a small step    
she can stop, and take a breath    

things are difficult, and she knows it    
she stops, looks around, and sees    
she already has what she needs    

where is she headed?    
even she does not know, only that she is    
most certainly in motion    

walking and asking    
She Is _________   

~San Francisco, January 2019

If you are moved to share this poem, feel free to do so by sharing a link to this page. In the words of Aurora Levins Morales, “Poetry is labor. Please respect it.” Thanks, loves.

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