In my readiness I go looking. I seek the one who holds the scissors, the key and the fingerbone. I call out and she answers. Her fierce aspect bars the way. Incisor on incisor, a delicacy of force, releasing the contained, unleashing the concealed. I am ready I am ready. I give everything I have become. I think it is the price of admission.
It is not.
She takes everything I offer. And leaves me standing. The cold is at my throat.
“It is a gift,” she says.
Stitch the wind back into my bones now. The day is new. I will wear indigo and plant my feet squarely.
Hear this. We begin.