Storage is what you have become

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-Derek Walcott


She was a wiccan. But more than a wiccan, she was honest. She would say things that felt premature, not ready, but said them like: you’re not much of a stockbroker, are you. and, why don’t you fall in love with someone you really love and stop using your life as an excuse to be sad. it was startling really, but everyone wanted her at a party, reading the smidge of leaves at the bottom of a cup. Sometimes, there would be moments of inopportune grace: He loves you more than you imagine, clouds couldn’t stop his army galloping to your rescue. things like that. one day a girl burst out crying and i saw her lay a pale, spidery hand on her shoulder. There was a lamp spilling between them like honey. Sarah, she said, sarah, you deserve what you wish and hope for. Stop trying to make it not so.