Are we so different?
Does the river not cry as it stumbles and falls?
Is the flesh of rock not the same as mine only hardened by age?
Do your tears not join others and flow to the sea?
Your breathe, nourishment for another soul?
Your sweat damp like earth after rain?
Are we so different?
After all?
‘She’s got quite a spine,’ slammed the undisclosed door.
‘It’s solid, for sure,’ spoke the board of the floor.
‘Yes, the bones are evident,’ revealed the light from the street.
‘I can’t see a thing!’ shouted the shadow of feet.
It was an illusion
Nothing was left behind but the past
In fact she needed nothing more to step into the future
Except the belief that there was one.
Climate Changed her.
The world held her well
Each hard-boned twig that pressed into her flesh
Reminded her that strength and fragility
Exist in the same moment
We crumble and fall
At every moment
And that is the beauty of change
Holding
Being held
Between two worlds we are
The sky in your eyes
The river in mine
We are held
Together
Yet apart
The eye of the beholder
A parallel universe
that completes the triangle
where image and words
are only a precarious structure
of narcissism at best
Jeni McMillan 