Fell down the rabbit hole this morning at Silent Hour. If you are not reading Basilike Pappa, you should be
Is there anything you’re not great at?
Once someone told you you’ve got a hand
for drawing; you thought they meant conclusions.
Once someone told you you had a voice for singing;
you misheard, thought they said stinging.
Once someone told you…
there was always someone telling you something
and when there wasn’t, you’d make up the words.
The words became your chisel,
your penknife sharp;
you dedicated yourself to the art
of carving me into your preconceptions.
Carve me into vine leaves, mountain slopes, figs
wide open bleeding
and teach me to sing a song to rhyme your victory dance around me
(once someone told you you were good at dancing).
Carve, rough-cast and cast aside
those parts of me you don’t care for
and go on
chopping and singing, stinging and piquing.
Carve and cut and salt and smoke me
put me on a platter, eat me
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