I keep hearing Everything's going to be OK. She said,
I just don't believe it Yet.
We meet in the basements Of churches,
Under the eyes Of people who refuse
To see us.
Our pain asks us to sit with it For it is lonely too.
The souls of trees are in the sky.
That is why they reach so high.
As I laid beside you All I really wanted to do
Was touch you.
They tell me
I escape the world by running through it.
It was so simple. She had simply one day been forgotten.
I wish to be seen. I wish to be unseen.
Maybe it is what we try to give each other.
The hands full of flowers. The best parts of ourselves. So that we might be taken in and make you smile As we are held with care.
Maybe it hurts.
Maybe it is beautiful, but wilts away.
Then we return to the fields of clover and honey and fireweed before the autumn sets And we try again.
Running back to our homes with another gift torn from the meadow Of our selves.
I am looking for the one who helped me see the world through both my eyes
I keep hearing Everything's going to be OK. She said, I just don't believe it Yet.
We meet in the basements Of churches, Under the eyes Of people who refuse To see us.
Our pain asks us to sit with it For it is lonely too.
The souls of trees are in the sky. That is why they reach so high.
As I laid beside you All I really wanted to do Was touch you.
They tell me I escape the world by running through it.
It was so simple. She had simply one day been forgotten.
I wish to be seen. I wish to be unseen.
Maybe it is what we try to give each other. The hands full of flowers. The best parts of ourselves. So that we might be taken in and make you smile As we are held with care. Maybe it hurts. Maybe it is beautiful, but wilts away. Then we return to the fields of clover and honey and fireweed b...
I am looking for the one
who helped me see the world through both my eyes
I keep hearing Everything's going to be OK. She said,
I just don't believe it Yet.
We meet in the basements Of churches,
Under the eyes Of people who refuse
To see us.
Our pain asks us to sit with it For it is lonely too.
The souls of trees are in the sky.
That is why they reach so high.
As I laid beside you All I really wanted to do
Was touch you.
They tell me
I escape the world by running through it.
It was so simple. She had simply one day been forgotten.
I wish to be seen. I wish to be unseen.
Maybe it is what we try to give each other.
The hands full of flowers. The best parts of ourselves. So that we might be taken in and make you smile As we are held with care.
Maybe it hurts.
Maybe it is beautiful, but wilts away.
Then we return to the fields of clover and honey and fireweed before the autumn sets And we try again.
Running back to our homes with another gift torn from the meadow Of our selves.
Clary Estes
Clary Estes is a documentary photographer and writer from Central Kentucky who works internationally.
