The Pragmatist

As I sit here and ponder on yesterday's dreams and hopes, I look at my inventory of life— perhaps you'll find flour, oil, and rice. Untie your shoes and keep clothes in a tatter, no bells or whistles, humility in disguise as the sword sways in darkness. I close my eyes to the madness, close my throat to a tightness— a million knots in ten generations. The pain finally reaches me, squinted eyes in efforts to see me, finally meet the one that took the time to untie the laces of frozen fear, to find a quietness that sits with a restless heart, a candle to keep the soul at a low burn, and a morsel of bread to keep me above. Today I break the pomegranate open, drink the wine and embrace my finicky bite. I celebrate in loud thunder and shatter the ear of those who persecuted— let them know my survival bleeds under moonlit skies.