twc sky

The Chalice

Become a chalice and nourish them
Like the sweet rice pudding consumed to
Balance the stomach;
The wooden vessel mutes the steel spoon,
Night, state of matter (without a form);
Look up to the sky, expect none, cede
And then— if you drift, observe, the sky
Shall breathe through you;
A reed, you were and shall be, the origin
Of warmth, a fountain of spring.

Pink cotton candy clouds contrast with the bubblegum blue sky drifting in a sunset glow

Birds are very distant, the wind is silent as the sun sets on silhouettes of rooftop rows

I wonder if the sky misses
the sun when it sinks into
the sea each night. Does
it weep for it to stay just
a little longer? Does it
know that its tears
only fill the sea
even higher?
Maybe it
knows that
the sun needs
something more
than it has to offer
and so it uses its pain
as an offering, allows its
own destruction to save
the lover it couldn’t keep.
—  Hourglass // J.S.

They may laugh at the butterfly who rubs the powder off her own wings trying to brush everyone’s cheek, but they will die with wilted flowers in their hands while there will be a hundred thousand gardens planted in your name. Seeds are meant to be sown, not stored, and I think you’ve got seeds for every plant imagined and some we haven’t seen yet hiding inside you. Plant them. Even if the soil is not good. The world is tough, yes, but put down roots and make it softer. Roots are scary because that means it will hurt if someone decides to rip you up, but stay anyway. the right ones will pick you with care. Grow. Even if you’re the only one stretching for the sky, grow. What the other plants think of you is none of your concern. It’s not your fault if they’ve never seen petals like yours before. There will be storms, but you know how to bend. Let everything grow, even the weeds, for they might be flowers in a language you haven’t heard yet. Dandelions are used for healing, too. Use the light for everything. Absorb it. Believe it. Make it a part of you. Crack yourself open and hold nothing back.

Let yourself

—  Sunflower Love (For Katie), Elizabeth McNamara
burnt ears smell of belém pepper

if it all would stay as it was
things would wilt away,
so we listen to succulents grow a night
to our callous feet
while the ear that hears too much burns
as a mouth full of belém pepper
eating the haste out of the day
and nothing sticks out in those midnights
but the hand of the clock pointing up,
to romanticize the already lit sky.