I join the visitors at the gates

-Bryanna Millis

This place owns my hands, my legs, my eyes.

The space behind my ribs

that contains a universe of contradictions.

Light and dark on the flip side of every moment. Hope and fear. 

Connection, and the threat of losses greater than I can bear.


I join the visitors at the gates, filled with longing

to weave myself into the fabric of this life.

Wooed by words of welcome and instant intimacies,

readily given passage into hearts and homes.

I come and I go, carrying flesh and bone across wall and sea.


Far away, freedom lights the night sky.

I squint into the future while holding too tightly to the past.

There is too much history here, we say.

We celebrate, and we mourn, and time passes,

blurring the edges of our memories.


Carpets of wild flowers and the brilliant blue sky of early spring

reveal the ignorance of nature.

It blooms and shines,

waving in the wind,

even as the world caves slowly in.