189: Sandbags
I love when people say
Oh, it makes me well up.
I heard that today-
it makes me well up;
as if one’s feelings of
love or longing or grief
could rise in them like water.
As if we really are part ocean,
as if the levees broke,
as if naming it is a sandbag.
Maybe that’s why we cry
when it’s so good
and when it’s so bad,
because we’re welling up,
and because the ocean inside us
has to go somewhere.
I asked you what was heavy
and you said
being together
being single
my sick dog
voting rights
to-do lists
Afghan refugees
sick babies,
Jan term
rejection
racism
feeling small
being in limbo
making decisions.
Should I be friends with this person?
Am I overthinking it?
Will Covid ever end?
We are welling up.
We are running over.
The ocean in us is rising.
Maybe that means we’re alive,
and maybe it means we’re afraid
and maybe it means
we aren’t the only ones.
You aren’t the only one.
I’m not the only one.
Tell me what’s heavy.
Feel free to well.
We can be each other’s sandbags.
Written by Sarah Speed // Writing the Good
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