I once was a graffiti artist up all night hunting
and circling scenes of random beauty.
I’d tag my name underneath:
It was a dream.
It came from infinity.
It landed in my marrow.
It made my bones light.
It reminded me: the last time I died
I was born Brooke Julia Gessay
October 9th, 1981, and the gap
between is the gap happening now.
It reminded me: I was born with a vow so central
it can’t be seen, beating my heart, and my job
is to live it to certain death. It reminded me:
we must feed our vows with our very own flesh.
It reminded me: circle beauty. Move bones
by moving the gap inside the marrow.
It reminded me: it’s not all going to be ok,
but it already is, but I must make it so.
It reminded me of the hours I failed at birthing
in the bardo between night and day, and how
I gave up trying, so bewildered by terror and intensity
until that thin veil appeared between this world
and what’s under it – that darkness unfathomably full –
and the silent voice sounded
everywhere and nowhere
are you willing to die for this?
and I yowled the YES that changes everything
while pushing a planet down and out my pelvis
and a big bang, different but similar, ripped
through my throat with a violent ultraviolet light.
It reminded me: there are resources
we cannot conceive of, and we find them
in the asking if the asking
is alive enough to annihilate
and reorganize our current selfing
for something better at love.
It reminded me: I see you
bravely meeting what is yours
alone to meet. Are you willing to die
for this? Feed your vow
and eat it
and offer it away.