Unbuttoning the Years

The wool of this cardigan is heavy

It smells of cedar and old mistakes

I am unbuttoning the years now

One by one, they drop like stones

Into the tall grass by the fence

I thought I had to be a monument

Steady as the granite on the hill

But even the mountain yields to rain (It all washes away eventually)

I remember your voice in the yard

It sounded like dry leaves on gravel

You expected a cathedral from me

I was only a small wooden chapel

I release the anger I held for you

It was a rusted nail in my palm

I let it fall into the dirt

The soil knows what to do with rust (Let it go into the earth)

The light is changing to a pale ochre

It catches the dust on the window

I am not the person I was

When the frost first bit the vines

The growth is quiet and deep

It happens in the dark below

Where the roots find their own way

Most of all, I forgive this woman

The one who tried so hard to please

I see her standing in the orchard

Reaching for fruit she couldn't touch

It is alright to have empty hands

The palms are soft and ready now

I am the hawk and the open sky

I am finally my own true name (Finally, I am just myself)