Meditation in the Quiet of the Afternoon

Left foot, right foot, breathe.
I am not who I was last year.
Breathe.

Walk, walk, walk
Blue bird swoops down and up
A boy not older than 9 maybe,
throws a ball on the wall
His reflexes are better than mine
Breathe.

Wind blows.  My skin tingles
"The rich can afford to 'find themselves',"
She said to me. It stays in my memory.
I am not rich. Yet I need to find myself.
Walk, walk, walk.

Look up. The sky has cirrus clouds.
Sun to my right preparing to set
But not yet.
Birds fly all over.
Breathe.

Who am I?
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Why am I alive?
Walk. Walk. Walk.

"Thank you for believing in me,"
an 11th grader said to me.
My heart breaks.

Last week, I cried.
Because the pain was more real
than the joys I ever felt.
And why is that?
Breathe.

I am not who I was last month.
or last week, or yesterday.
Left foot, right foot, breathe.

Where am I going?
Walk. Walk. Walk.
Do not stop moving.
The boy is still bouncing the ball
off the wall
His reflexes will always be better
than yours, for sure.
Blue bird swoops the second time
I am not rich. I am overfilled with
words-- The sun, I can tell you in
so many ways what she looks like
what she feels like, sets.
Birds settle on trees, sing.
Breathe.
Weep. Because when you do
you crack open.
And joy steps right in.
In all her glory, blinding, gripping
your heart it could burst.

Words, I am full of them.
Yet too many times I have no answers.
Perhaps they are here somewhere
In the scribbling, writing, walking
round and round,
Perhaps I will have found
they are staring at me in the face,

"You have what it takes.
You believe in people.
Isn't it time you believe in yourself?"