the beginning

I am the beginning beyond the beginning.

I am starting over from scratch—

from dirt (from ash),

I come into bloom.

When the rest of the world gets quiet,

I remember who I am and to slow down.

I reach in and pull out

the sludge that’s been collecting

past my sternum, between my ribs.

I’ve been waiting for a moment like this—

then for the distant cluster of memories to stop my heart,

to hold onto my breath, like a captive of the night.

When. really. they were there all along at my bedside

to hold me; to sing me lullabies;

to say good luck;

to say good bye

and whisper,

“we are no longer part of you. And maybe we never were.”

Then, quietly, swiftly, they slip out the bedroom door

and into the night.