Seeing the Sky

When I was a kid,
My mother only put flowers on our front porch
Because the sun never hit our backyard.

When I met him,
He reminded me of family.

I studied his face:
It was filled with vertical lines and scarring.
He told me that he broke at age 12,
But could still see the sky
Through cracked glass eyes.

He told me that depression is a merry-go-round:
Some sort of children’s game.
That a gym class:
A cracked mirror.

He told me to forget about it,
But to never lose sight of the bite.

He told me that the sun never rests,
And that even if I couldn’t see it,
Somewhere, someone could.
So I should never mourn the sun,
Because she will return when the moon falls.

He told me that happiness is like the sun,
That we know it’s alive
Because somewhere, someone has it.
And that when my moon falls,
Happiness will return
Brighter than ever.

And I remembered then,
Why I chose sneakers over Mary Janes,
Because boy shoes let me run faster.
And running was the only way to get to a place
Where my name was of my own creation,
Where my heart was full again,
Where the only tears shed daily
Were the happy kind.

He walked me home,
Holding my hand
But not saying a word.
When we reached my house he said
“Don’t put all your flowers in the backyard, kid”


2 thoughts on “Seeing the Sky

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