Ready – Elena Brower

The ground of my first studio condominium beneath my brow, kneeling,
a spot during which I discover myself recurrently.
I’m weeping. I’m begging. I’m grateful.
I acknowledge myself. I’m excessive. I’m at residence right here.

Twenty years later, immediately.
Seated upright in my favorite chair, unattainable sundown pinks
lighting up my almost-closed eyes.
Flooring of my studio flashing beneath my face in my thoughts.
I’m okay right here, lastly;
greater than six years since I modified my state.
Reward of age, present of quiet, present of time. 

Ideas fly via.
I’m uncomfortable. I’m respiratory. 

Failing as a dad or mum. Respiration.
Such a superb mom. Respiration. 

Empowerment is a advantage. Respiration.
Too fixated on others. Respiration. 

So glad I’m sitting. Respiration.
What else am I lacking. Respiration.

I ponder how lengthy I’ve been right here. Respiration.
Instructor. Pupil. Respiration.

Letting go. Respiration.
Failing as a dad or mum. Respiration.
Such a superb mom. Respiration.

I’m again.
And for a second, the primary in years,
I want for that prime once more.
Take me. Spoil me. Elevate me. Launch me.
Take away me. Disappear me.
Deeply uncomfortable on this physique.

That is worry, warping my thoughts, howdy.
I’ve been ready.

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