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her heart is beating out of its ribbed cage.
her lover sitting to her right, unknowing
all that she is fighting to hold inside herself.
it is evening, shadowed, echoes strung, stillness,
now that the thrumming of light has faded away.
and then all that is hidden begins to break away.
a fierce weight lies upon her heaving chest and cloudy mind.
and then he turns 'round, breaking silence, and asks her if she is okay.
she is not okay, or alright, or even good in this moment.
he moves nearer to her, and she slips her arms low around his waist,
at his beckoning of her to come here, he presses
her warm weepy frame deep into his chest.
and bravely, she is weeping.
long and hard and unsure, she weeps.
she shakes with the deeply-seeded ache
of repressed emotive days, until she cannot
possibly hold it all in another second more.
she is weeping for it all - and so she clings tighter to his core.
for she needs to claim all the strength he has to offer her.
she is weeping for words hidden, words unwritten
she is weeping for community, a tribe, a love revolution to begin.
she is weeping for the least of these, those who were cast aside.
she is weeping for brothers and sisters shunned from The Table.
she is weeping for the ill-name-casters and stone-throwers.
she is weeping for wild ugly nature out of her control.
she is weeping for little ones wanted, yet still to be born.
she is weeping for blue mountains and kinfolk and reunion.
she is weeping, weeping, weeping
and so she shakes with gasping tears of knowing once more.
for she always finds herself here, sitting just behind this shadow
of unknowing, this shadow which moves away, as she allows
her idealistic self to be stilled, to slowly fall apart piece by piece.
and she feels in these mourning moments,
as if she were a many-branched glass figurine,
fragile and wildly rooted and easy to break apart.
she was so easily created, by thunderous lightning and salty sand,
and yet she is so very easily shattered, branch by branch,
snapped constantly again, over and over,
by mother nature and human hand.
so he strokes her hair and shushes her fears, and grips her quivering frame
even tighter as she heals, all the while telling her it is okay to let it all out.
and then he breaks her weeping curse with his words.
she gasps for air, and slides up into his arms, renewed,
because he called her brave by name.