maelynslavik

she came up behind me one day & tapped me on the shoulder

i spun on my heel, unsteady, a dumb american consistently

ashamed of my language

she pointed at my face and drew a heart in the air with her thumbs

We,

The writers

The comedians

The storytellers

The artists.

We’re the ones who move forward.

We’re further than we were hundreds of years ago,

Yes,

But.

We’re not done.

when the time comes

i am not ready.

as in,

the ground beneath me is still dew-soft with summer

and i am just barely stretching awake

to a morning not yet frosted over. they grab my stem