Bringing you into the world was a half-cocked plan, born of accident and bravado. Of one thing I was certain: I would do better than my parents. My smart resolve soon fell away into the ruts of their well-worn path.
From the Box Store of Beliefs, I bought a large suitcase. Around scratchy clothes and tight shoes, I arranged for you all the useless nothings Of Propriety and how.it.is.supposed.to.be.
I watched that unwieldy valise bounce against your new knees. I knew this was best for you because Important Things are Heavy and keeping a grip on Big Truths takes tenacity and brute strength.
As the years went by, The pillars of what I thought I knew, what I thought was true, Toppled.
I remembered The dream of another way, Of the path that says: It is never too late to let go of the Warping Weight.
It is not too late For us to slide that clunker out the rear car door into a backwash ditch.
Now, I’m buying you a big bandana and a stick.
I’m packing you a bundle Of deodorant and daring and creativity and chapstick and sriracha and compassion and fuzzy socks and the salve of let.it.go and the balm of how.it.could.be.
I will watch you set off, A bright bandana ball bobbing behind you.
Yes, that will be a happy way to release you into the world.
Letting go is like Letting go of honey, or letting go of dirt under your fingernails after an afternoon in the garden
Letting go is like dropping a hot-handled skillet, the imprint bubbled into your palm.
Or it is like lingering. It is losing the scent from a lover’s pillow.
It is the slow melt.
It is marking each labored breath while feeling the planet’s rotation under your feet.
Letting go is like blowing a dandelion into the wind, a contrary wind, that whisks tiny tailed wisps up your nostrils under your eyelids into your ears.
Letting go is artless wretchedness. There’s no beauty in it: It is a roll in the mud and a stumble through the briars. But when you emerge, your dented grace and seedling peace will be enough.
Bringing you into the world was a half-cocked plan, born of accident and bravado. Of one thing I was certain: I would do better than my parents. My smart resolve soon fell away into the ruts of their well-worn path.
From the Box Store of Beliefs, I bought a large suitcase. Around scratchy clothes and tight shoes, I arranged for you all the useless nothings Of Propriety and how.it.is.supposed.to.be.
I watched that unwieldy valise bounce against your new knees. I knew this was best for you because Important Things are Heavy and keeping a grip on Big Truths takes tenacity and brute strength.
As the years went by, The pillars of what I thought I knew, what I thought was true, Toppled.
I remembered The dream of another way, Of the path that says: It is never too late to let go of the Warping Weight.
It is not too late For us to slide that clunker out the rear car door into a backwash ditch.
Now I’m buying you a big bandana and a stick.
I’m packing you a bundle Of deodorant and daring and creativity and chapstick and sriracha and compassion and fuzzy socks and the salve of let.it.go and the balm of how.it.could.be.
I will watch you set off, A bright bandana ball bobbing behind you.
Yes, that will be a happy way to release you into the world.
Chali Davis 