Crossing Lines

Come down from the stars, and be close to me.
Let me feel you next to me on the cold driveway;
show me your pleasure at shooting stars.

Keep your blessings, your guidance, your plans.
I can't understand glory.
Sit with me and laugh so I can hear.

Don't build a hedge of protection; take a knife
to the brush. Don't bless my food;
share in the feast. Sit next to me.

Listen to me talk about my day as if
you didn't know it every step, and when I stop
for breath, ask another question, start me again.

Listen to my questions, even if I can't understand the answer.
Embrace me when I accuse, when I shout, when I doubt.
And when I cry into my pillow, be the hand on my back;

the tears falling into my hair are yours. I can't understand
glory, so keep on painting those sunsets and chiseling icicles.
I see most days; point it out to me like you think it's beautiful too.

The planets will keep spinning just as they always have, ever since
you told them too. Leave them be. And my cells will keep on
transcripting and dividing, just as you said.

I can't see a cell, or reach a planet. I can see flecks of gold in
wide eyes, and I can feel calloused hands, rough with
sawdust. Come sit with me on a park bench,

and let's feed the birds.

-Hillary Beasley