I cannot be an untamed wind, whipping others about without a soft place to land, especially when legs are barely strong enough to stand.
When you tremble in your shoes and have so much to lose, you cannot open your hands to let go or to hold on when all the silken petals are gone from your rosey bed,
leaving thorns instead of satin for fragile skin. And you damn the wind.
I never meant to steal the feathers from the down, or the plush ring of velvet from the inside of your crown, the gentleness from the light, or the numbing from the bite.
I never meant to be a force for feeling, it’s just part of the healing.
I never meant to impose my intent and be as a violent wind, blowing to the sea your favorite coat or hat, ripping your talismans from your hands
to be carried away for another to find in some distant land where treasures are trifles and trinkets are traded to merchants with hunger that cannot be sated.
I never meant to muss up your hair and stir up the despair you were hiding in there, wrapped up nicely and braided with care so it wouldn’t be seen for what it is,
and you could distract us with the spells on your lips, turning poison into trophies and babies breath to adorn your head.
But I left you exposed when I blew your hair down to your shoulders and your jewels to the ground. It’s funny, the things that break without making a sound.
And what will I be now that the wild wind has been rebuked? And what will you be without your suit, after I surged and stormed and ruined your perfect form?
And you cursed me to abandon the song so now the music is lost? What will you do with the silence, and what will I do with the calm?
Will we ever hear the melody that transcends right and wrong and breathe it in? Maybe then you could tend your flame, and I could tame the wind.
Copyright © Sheyorah Naify, 2021