My world ended, not a thing making sense.
The how, the what, the why,
all pounding my head.
Another hour or two, a stronger ray or two,
and another day at my doorstep.
My face, red and washed out, this is how I welcome it.
A private meeting, now just us two.
And then, I swirl some water, cold over my face,
hear it thunder over my brittle body.
Line my eyes, dark and strong,
long earrings brushing over my shoulder.
I am ready.
The world hasn’t ended, you had offered,
on weak hands already faltering.
My world did end, for me,
but I faced a new day, anyway.
Isn’t that how we are made?
Watery final endings, painful new beginnings.