under stand

i wasn't really there.
uh, well..
ya.
i wasn't really there.
when you say it
it sounds so different
than when i say it.
i
i wasn't really there.
i was always moving away.
i was always moving upwards,
moving outwards.
i was on skates.
i was riding a bike.
i was on an escalator.
leaving.
always in the process
of leaving.
you
were never really
ready to leave.

amanda

don't pull her apart 
and build her strong heart 
into the walls of your house.
her bricks and mortar
hold her power and 
her place together
just right.

and this fight
in this light
can't be captured
in pieces.
you have to swallow
it whole.

the depth of 
her reflection
is sung clearly.
her foundation 
does not need 
your inspection.

it is sound.

of course it is.

that's just your privilege
that copies and pastes 
this movement for 
your tastes, 
your scrapbook, 
your escapes
from the moment.

but to behold her 
as she is- 
a word soldier
broad shouldered
smashing boulders
with verses
so that you can 
stand down from 
from excuses
with dignity.
that is her
gift to give,
kindness.

so
don't stroll past,
mindless,
and extoll crap
exclaiming to your
fellow passengers of 
knowing who lives there.

selfies at her gate
do not raise the value
of her estate or 
your experience.
they underrate it.
the view from her
front porch cannot
be shared of course
so ask yourself -

did i shingle 
that roof?
did i fasten 
that door?
did i dig
out the basement?
did i lay
out that floor?

likely not.
up til now
did you care?
you weren't there.

so turning
up stones on her path
won't awaken your grasp 
or give you 
an understanding 
of her past.

don't assume welcome
into her house.
mistaking edification
for invitation is no
longer tolerable.
and as your hand falls
on the gate, wait.

and at every moment
after, ask - 
may i?
knowing that the answer
likely, should be - 
i will let you know,
if you grow,
someday, 
maybe.