With the loyal blood of friendship
I sing of one who has not betrayed.
I am wrapped in the distance of time
and space, but talk through
telephone wires to her brave
mind. We speak of things that
challenge our blindness and deepest core.
We throw light down the chimney
and braid the strings of our attachment.
In tragic bodily curse she discovers
the way to see. She knocks self-pity
to its knees and praises the mosquitoes going by.
She embraces her trials as good gifts,
though hurting like a simple child.
We have held the flag that divides
the foreigner from the native. We have let go.
These are things we have learned like a dandelion
stretches naturally towards the sun, like a fledgling
knows its mother’s private tune.
I am happy to call this blessing mine, to know
so strong a seed sprout…
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