Fear Bruises

Fear burrows into me,
a cavalcade of millipedes
chewing at the edge of my spirit.
Rocks gather in my belly.
I’m sinking,
porous,
cadaverous.

Maybe a few of us can conquer fear,
but none can outrun it.
I entice it to pass me over,
touching the softness that lays beneath.

I’ve never been crippled by fear,
but it’s robbed me of seeing the light wrap around my children's faces
and receiving the warmth of their hands
as we shelter from winds that crush everything.

Together we find waves that are still buoyant,
fear becomes a memory,
until it isn’t,
again.

The only way I’ve been able to become big for us,
is to let myself be small,
drift down below fears chattering ivory mandibles,
and listen for the first song of the day,
sung somewhere by voices
that know us all.

This too shall pass, they sing.

This too shall pass.