This week’s contribution was submitted by a writer who prefers to be anonymous
It Says, Be Brave
By A Writer I Know
A heavy ache in my chest
runs
from the shoulder to the toes.
It takes control,
lets out a wail,
and leads me into an open field.
“Kneel down,” it says, “Be brave.”
It hums, a song I’ve never heard,
to a drum I never see —
a song that is not mine alone,
piercing into my ears.
A note
in the open field:
“Open your ears,” it says, “Be brave.”
It whispers
words, foreign, unheard words,
in my ears.
It carves them into a small stone
that glistens,
tucks them beneath my tongue.
“Repeat after me,” it says, “Be brave.”
It morphs into a prayer —
one I’ve heard in dreams,
in silence.
The wind changes direction,
clearing a pathway
that leads somewhere unknown.
“Follow me,” it says, “Be brave.”
It leads my feet
to a stream of living water,
dancing forward, backward,
to an ancient rhythm.
The waters flow on my bare skin.
A fear hits me.
“Do not fear,” it says, “Be brave.”
As the sun and the moon meet,
it manifests into
a roar, a hiss,
that writes itself on my body
into maps of smoke, bone,
and salt water.
“Let go,” it says, “Be brave.”
It leaves a note,
folded discreetly in my palms —
not in words exactly,
but a knowing
for me to keep.
“Here. This. Now,” it says,
“Be brave.”
