faithfulness / forgiveness / freedom

on the nature of faithfulness | march first

I buy a pair of honey colored clogs

for one hundred and fifty dollars.

an investment, says my roommate.

a purchase, says my mom.

ugly, says my classmate.

I do not care what they say,

for I am in love.

everywhere I go

the honey colored clogs attract honesty:

people do not hesitate

to tell me how they feel about my clogs.

some like them and some do not,

but no one likes them like I do.

I wear them everyday,

until it is too cold to wear honey colored clogs.

and when it is too cold to wear honey colored clogs,

I wear them only to the coffeeshop,

where they attract even more honesty:

syrup and old milk and scratches from the fridge doors.

so when it is my turn to be honest,

I tell the coffeeshop boss that I am scared of 4 AM

and I leave the clogs in the back of my car

covered in syrup stains,

old milk,

and scratches from the fridge doors.

I forget about them.

and I forget about how people had begun

to associate me with them.

and I forget about the magic I have when I am in them.

and I forget about what they mean to me.

but when it starts to taste like spring again,

even just for a weekend,

I remember.

and I rescue my faithful colored clogs

from the prison where I had left them,

and I begin to rid them of their stains,

even though I know some will not come off--

not for a long time,

and maybe not ever.

but they are still my honey colored magic clogs,

and I find that these stained testimonies

to my labor and to my bravery

make them all the more beautiful to me.

what is faithfulness?

faithfulness is a phone call when I am too tired to get out of bed.

faithfulness is leaving the house early to scrape the frost off of the windshield.

faithfulness is we should catch up over coffee.

faithfulness is unpacking a suitcase in a way that honors the garments.

faithfulness is the dedication with which I study beauty.

faithfulness is carefully addressing a wound before it turns into a weapon.

faithfulness is delighting in the shape and color of an old burn.

faithfulness is confrontation.

faithfulness is walking to work every morning.

faithfulness is receiving the revelation of God in a thrift store.

faithfulness is understanding that there is anxiety in my body and letting it exist.

faithfulness is I will never give up on you, as long as it takes.

on the nature of forgiveness | march first

the poem about the apple sticker,

do you remember it?

the not-very-sticky apple sticker?

it was never published.

but let us say it was published

under someone else’s name,

and altered like a crime

until the words did not recognize me.

would you remember me then?

would you know that it was my work

if I remained silent?

if my work remained silent?

no, you would not.

I am not the first apple-sticker-poet,

nor the last,

and so it pains me

even as my tongue learns to acquiesce:

I name the treacherous poem

beautiful

in its shatterings.

the flagpole embraces me!

it is etching a place in my side,

scoring me deep even as I beg to be free--

but who will carry my banner if I lay it down?

no one, that is the price.

no one, that is the reward.

forgotten, that is the price.

forgiveness, that is the reward.

what is forgiveness?

forgiveness is stretching out sore muscles.

forgiveness is realizing that the sun does not burn people out of spite.

forgiveness is believing the best in those who willfully deceive.

forgiveness is knowing that motives are painfully and beautifully multi-faceted.

forgiveness is forfeiting an argument that I could’ve won.

forgiveness is opening the dishwasher to find dirty dishes and finishing the job.

forgiveness is not the first thought, but the prevailing one.

forgiveness is taking responsibility for the wounds that I have inflicted.

forgiveness is not found in a transaction but on a journey of the heart and mind.

forgiveness is never fair.

forgiveness is I cannot forget, but I can choose not to remember.

on the nature of freedom | march first

about as wide as the Yellow Pages

is the space between who I am

and who I want you to think I am.

and in that space sits a red tortilla bowl

filled with paper scraps that I have

committed to memory.

occasionally someone will reach in

and drop off another scrap--

another fortune cookie fortune

to adorn my bowl.

eagerly I will snatch it up

to find out if I am liked

and successful and desirable

and pretty and talented

and special and smart and loved.

how have these papers become everything to me?

for I am drowning in chinese words

and lucky numbers which bring me no peace.

I am memorizing and memorializing,

and I am not alone.

some people are suffocating in paper scraps

with Yellow Page miles

and Yellow Page oceans

between who they are

and what they would like you to think of them.

but I have understood the exhaustion

of the all-too-common ailment:

I am trying with unnecessary vigor

to keep alive a vestibule

which will only betray me.

if I do not mind what you think,

then suddenly

there are no fortunes to ruin my sleep,

and I am who I have always been,

with or without you.

if I light the tortilla bowl on fire,

will you think I am needlessly stupid?

I do not know,

for you are embers,

and I am free.

what is freedom?

freedom is knowing that making a choice is better than no choice at all.

freedom is soaking in the little delights that life offers at every intersection.

freedom is denying myself the indulgence of self-pity.

freedom is understanding that those who speak harshly are speaking out of hurt.

freedom is cleaning my room and doing the dishes.

freedom is choosing not to abuse the brain’s dopaminergic system.

freedom is the wild pleasure of dance.

freedom is the beautiful and divine act of redemption.

freedom is knowing I have no control over how I am remembered or forgotten.

freedom is honesty about everything that I am.

related: slowness/self-control/surrender