The first to speak for
I – and for no one else
The knowing of others
Is like the knowing of a river
Almost impossible
Beyond the passing
How could I speak
For the stones and
Countless drops of water ?
The endless sea of faces
Though we are connected
Like the roots of a tree
And spread outwards
Like its branches
I cannot be the bud blooming
On the other branch
Not when my own petals are
Just now tasting sunshine for
The first time


Am torn against the image
Reflecting itself in the mirror
Hung precariously on the wall
Where if I brush by carelessly
It will come loose from the nail
And crash to the floor
Shattering against the concrete
To reflect in a million tinier ways
Fractions and fragments
But the me there in pieces
In the shards and dust
Is the same one
Unscathed by falling or
Crashing or losing
Just simply there
As the riverbed houses
Its liquid soul
As the tree blooms from the
Inside towards the wide open sky


In the presence of myself
And me – rooted in the binding
And unraveling, unfolding and flowing
To realize that there is nothing
Left behind to speak of
Or speak for
All that is left is to be


Leigh-Anne Tyson


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