sano
tina gagliardi
There is no one clear thing.
Only the rush flood
of memory, stealing toward us
keeping its promise
And words,
our last refuge
before soft silence.
All the misinterpretations
Over a lifetime
I leave this to you
If only in hours, or minutes
There is one pure movement.
Let her stay inside
moments of uncertainty
in forgotten names and places.
We will not be rescued
We are our own saviours
our own beginnings and endings.
A gift that reveals itself
in intent,
In the unbridled madness of the creative mind
In the sorrow of our neighbours and sisters
In our own inescapable longing.
We will not be rescued
We will free ourselves
of our own desire
and instead
fulfill this hunger with meaning.
We have been building
playgrounds of solitude
Cloaking need with empathy
But we will rise, one by one
Strengthened by our own sins.
For years I listened,
waited, in silence.
Telling myself
this is not my life, my love.
They will call it heresy
Us—seeking out each other's language
Moving particles as granite
Reaching out toward the indefinable “we”.
about the author
Tina Gagliardiis a freelance writer from Canada. She is a regular contributor for Lush Magazine. Her writing has also appeared in the literary journals Regina Weese and Ultimate Hallucination.
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