In the pale moonlight,
The nursery lit like a lantern,
Flickering, dimming,
In and Out.
My grandmother’s nails,
With their crinkled skin
Soft as school paper
Crumpled up at the bottom of my napsack,
Trace patterns
Like the lace of her bedskirt
Along my back,
Softly soothing me to sleep.

But I cannot sleep;
The waves of comfort
Do not lull me,
Instead waking a sickness
That cannot be cured
Unless it is admitted;
Slowly I turn towards
Her lotiony arms
Rubbed with Vaseline,
And her vague menthol smell.

“Nana, why us?
Why does my Uncle,
So charming and funny,
Go from pure ecstasy
To the deepest bottom?
Why did the other have to go, Oh God, why?
He lit up this family
Like a gilded North star,
Always, burning bright.
Why can’t my mother
Keep a child in her womb,
And how did I grow there?
An accident,
The wedding gifrt from God,
Just for this?
And why does the other brother,
Not even a relation,
Ignore this all,
With his wife and
His grotesque riches and
His children, prettier
Than me?

“Nana, why did my father
Never feel love,
And why can I feel
His hesitation in
Returning it?
Why did my Aunt,
Not get to know her
Little girl?
Couldn’t I have at least met her too?
And why does the other sister,
Not even a relation,
Ignore this all
For drinking and bikers,
And absolute oblivion?

“It’s not just them,
It’s you and grandpa, and
Those that came before,
The orphan abandoned on a fisherman’s dock,
The monster frontier foster mother,
And it’s me too.
I feel this darkness,
Why must it plague us?”

My grandmother enveloped me,
Our sobs passed a current
Between our two bodies,
Each small in the world,
whether with age or youth.
And without a word,
Just the racking of her breath,
And the throbbing of her heart,
She said:

“Don’t fear this,
Shadow, darkness, disease,
Lingering over our crest.
For it isn’t what you think at all,
My sweet child,
So inked in blood.
Can I explain those few sorrows?
I’m sorry, child,
But they’re just punctuations
In the letter the Universe is writing us.
We are not broken by those periods.
We are the words,
Even the soundless meaning,
And someday you too
Will be the messenger.

“This darkness shatters among us
like glass broken on
The parquet floor,
Reflecting the sun beams
As they bounce off the windowsill.
We are both the bolt and the thunder,
Exciting the people
For the storm that is
Existence.
For every sadness
There is a triumphant, proud
Beauty:
In the mother's curving belly,
Or the old friend's booming laugh,
Or the child lying in the grass,
Imagining fantasies in the clouds.

“Yes, this is our magic, our craft:
We  lift up the
heavy velvet curtain of sorrow,
to reveal the joy that still exists,
We are strong:
The universe trusted in us.
So take my words, and may you
See all the truth around you,
may you move through it with
Strength, and Grace, and Love, and Heart.
Someday, descendants will
Come into your arms
And you will show them this
Immese scale of universe,
And you will realize
How truly great
We grow.