Because I am broken.
I find comfort in the broken ones
The flowers out of season.
The dark mornings.
The delinquent library books.
The residue that slips through.
The ones not half full but fully
shattered. The ones scarred by
I fall toward them with open arms .
For those who are lonely, those
wandering city streets, lost.
I pack kindness in a carry on of
imperfections. The bag so full
it’s spilling over.
The challenge of life, making everything fit.
My back aches for all I tote. There
are exits all around me. The gift shop is giving away apathy.
But I’ve purchase humanity’s ticket and I’m not going back.
Realizing life is more than chiffon pie and summer afternoons.
Knowing it isn’t the sky that matters but how we fly through it.
Navigating with a fractured flight map of scars,
counter winds and all.
Compassion our wings
The destination, love.