We Go About Our Days

despite all that, we worry we might never

feel free, not while awake, so wholly aware.

my therapist asks a question & I respond

in we; we are at an impasse, we don't know

where to go, we furrow our foreheads, fold

upon fold. we worry. this world can hurt

our heaviest leaden days; eyes wet with awe,

hands holding other hands, and oh-our mouths,

our miraculous mouths for kissing & singing

& tasting, gorgeous brains spinning memory

down to our marrow where none of

us are free, unless we all are.

we ricochet, I tell her, our freedoms.

we ricochet, this whirling of assaults.

After Rachelle Sierra