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Pieces

The Kitten’s Eyes

Let us swim.
We have reached the ocean. 
Some have yachts, most, however, are flailing in a current, swept out without even having noticed how far offshore we are. One moment you were waving a flag, the next it was wrapped around your feet, entangled around your arms, caught in your throat, dragging you to the bottom. 
The tastes of the times are bitter; 
stomach bile; salty waves;
tears in our eyes denied, a man denying his death in an American hospital. 
“This isn’t happening.” 
Funny how the shadow turns up; there on my doorstep, how the little feet found us, beckoned by the fear of abandonment, called to a place where love can, maybe, just maybe, find you.
He was a speck of ebony fur on the sidewalk, rapturous green eyes, a fusillade of desperate cries.
Overhead there was a hawk, eyes clearer than a rifle scope, nature growling in her baby’s stomach, three nests surrounding this block, all hunting, claiming territory, a new generation forming in trees on my street. We brought the tiny speck in to love him, to feed, rapidly becoming exhausted with his needs, stumbling young parents, worrying mainly if the dog will eat him.
He grew strong, he loved hard, entranced with his internal motor. 
We found a home with people that could love him properly.
He lives. He has a home. 
A home on the shore near the ocean. 
Let us swim.
The shores are pounded, the woodpecker’s skulls drum hollowed trees, the pendulum swinging and finally kissing unbridled chaos. The cycle repeats in our human history, pulling the covers back, circling ’round to love, returning to compassion, gathering one another in community. 
We only have each other. 
But that is not now. 
We whirl in sorrow and isolation.
Let us swim.
Right now is pain and we mustn’t look away, or turn our backs to it, or leave it for hawks to scour. We should hug it, mend her wound, nurture her cries, be quiet, and listen to her heart’s rhythm.
Her heart is my heart, my heart is your heart, and no matter how esoteric it sounds, these ideas are here for us to heal together, bond to one another, to tame our vengeful capabilities from letting loose often. 
This is the highest I have to give.
The highest I have for you to take.
And it feels that it is too late.
That we have reached the ocean.
Wave after wave.
Returning.
We are the cycle, we are current, we are the struggle.
Returning.
Let us swim.
Let us swim.
Let us swim.

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