I No Longer Buried My Head In Shaking Hands

I've put an end to the cruel act of dragging my body into 

the pit of grief. I'm done with beating myself up 

over the lack of rain, over the withering of a farmland 

that's consumed an ocean of my sweat. lately, I've discovered 

that a loss is an anticipation of the coming of permanent 

gems. like the fall of milk teeth. I no longer buried my head 

in shaking palms, worried about things that've slipped out 

of my hands. I'm committed to staying in the light. I'm 

committed to staying happy. when someone shoves a door 

in my face, I do not tremble. I translate it as a proclamation 

that somewhere, there's a house, more luxurious, full of intense 

warmth: waiting for my arrival, waiting so eagerly to shame 

the cold that's been tormenting me outside all these years.