by Justine Camacho-TajoneraI chase after the words.
And then I sit down and breathe.
Clearing the mind is a laborious thing.
It is so easy to live the automated life:
the raised arm, toothbrush in hand,
the turning of the key,
the grimace on the face at
the high pitched screech
of a baby.
The heat, the heat could kill.
But the rain, the rain too
could kill.
What would turn this machinery
into offerings, instead?
The one who offers.
The one who bends her head,
not accepting fate,
but choosing this,
this gesture now
of peace.
Image from Royalty Free Stock Images: Raster moon illustration
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