[Poetry] “grace lies in the lie”

I am told
that I move through the world with grace,
that I am temperate and generous,
that I must possess some secret of forgiveness.

It is a lie.

I possess no secret,
No magic elixir that removes pain,
No balm to rub on the shattered soul,
No salve to soothe the casual cut
so shallow
that it bleeds
for a decade.

I have no mantra
or meditation
or super secret white-lady yoga position
or magic water
or thought
or prayer
that makes everything okay,

No.

I have a well.
A well of rage so deep and so wide that I am terrified,
A calm still water resting,
waiting,
preying.

All of the hurts and cuts and injuries are there
-it is a holy well of holy rage-

And here I am
my bucket descending
creaking
cracking
praying
singing.
laughing.
loving.
forgiving.
healing.

Maybe I do have a secret after all.
and
Maybe now you do, too.

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