Gleaming Silver

Morning?

What has morning ever done for me?

I have too little time and all day to waste it.

Sunlight burns through curtains. Hot, searching for flesh.

But moonlight?

Moonlight is silver.

Silver like the wool on sheep I’d spent all night counting.

Sheep that need to be sheathed. Worries that have grown too knotted.

I am the silver pebbles knocking down the shores of a restless river.

And I grow more tired by the day.

I see myself in the foggy breath of winter nights.

Exhale and inhale under the watch of silver eyes, thousands up in the sky.

The star I left behind is up there too.

This place is new. A foreign tundra.

There is snow glistening around me. How strange it looks to virgin eyes.

The frost is almost silver.

My mother smiles through the cycles of the seasons.

When she laughs wide enough, the secrets of her molars are on display.

Silver stones, burrowed deep in aging teeth.

A tell-tale sign that there is joy too large to be contained.

Sometimes, though, there’s barely enough to fill up a coin jar.

Faded nickels, weathered dimes, clanging together, trying to sound alive.

Because that’s the thing about being silver.

You still aren’t gold.

Being enough is a lonely struggle.

I’ve hurled my anger at silver mirrors. Reflecting back my silver face. My silver curves. My second place.

But I am the silver lining of it all.

Strong as metal.

Tough as rock.

I am a torrent of mercury. The practiced edge of a blade.

My glow lights up your eyes like sterling spoons.

Muted before, but I am polished like new.

Can’t you see? I am so much more than a reflection you.