First One

cancer poem

I am waking up

to the compass I have been building

around my heart.

All this time,

these years spent noticing how beautiful,

how precious,

all of these accumulated moments are.

Some so simple.

Some far more elegant.

Each of them built upon the repeated choosing

of what makes a life worth living.

A life to love.

Even in its inevitable letting go.

Sometimes all of this practice is just motions.

But more often it is the full body

pranam to the perfect grace

of this resplendent,

excruciating,

shimmering existence.

I’ve built a map to keep me near

and pull me back

time and again,

to a life I choose,

a life of tiny moments noticed and held until they turned gold;

until they were their own magic.

I have made a compass to steer me back and back and back again

to the nexus of my grief and my gratitude

which I am learning are woven

one to the other

inextricable

interconnected

mirrored parts to one perfect

whole

fragile

finite

heart

home.