driftwood

becoming

By R.C. TaylorPublished about a year ago • 1 min read

I am driftwood

drinking the Pacific from the back of my mother

trying to smother the hunger

to be more than an other

⠀

I am rain dance

opportunity blisters the sky colorfully

scorched from the steam of me

conifer trees breathe with me

⠀

I am rising

branches triumph upwards to glimpse

how even Icarus told my name to the sun

though the moon ate it once

⠀

I am languageless

tongueless, nameless, please say less

none and all know me now–

cycling transcendence

I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.

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