On Sunday morning
I went for my first run
in our new town.
Quiet.
This town is so
damn quiet.
My feet, my breath, the leaves on the ground.
Everything I couldn’t hear
over the scream of the city
is now deafening.
And the constant screaming in head
that was trying to break the barrier
and be heard
is beginning to coo.
fragments of past months.
We search out a forest, green space,
somewhere lush to plant them.
Trees and grass we can walk to,
untouched by the traffic,
by the ever-present whine
of the endless energy cities spit.
Over and over we’ve asked
what’s missing,
but never stopped to wonder
if it might be nothing.
That we might be overflowing
instead of empty.
Longing for the quiet.
The stillness of rainforest.
The song only evergreens,
moss, mushrooms,
and our broken hearts know.
In the cold, wet air
they sing it to us
and we can finally hear
ourselves echoing it back.
Pulsing empathy.
“I know you. You belong here.”
Hush.
The breakdown was more
brutal than it usually is.
All screams and punches and sobbing.
A car crash disguised as a human being.
Weeks of sliding in.
Forty-five minutes of destruction.
Then I dressed and put my make up on.
Walked to work blasting rap music.
Just like that, a switch flipped.
Anger and frustration turned cool and purposeful.
I wonder if that’s how it feels
to be born.
Violently thrust into a new world
you’re not sure you’re ready for.
You can’t go back.
Jump in.
Ruby Pipes 