i used to think trust appeared
with the right words, it would
b l i n k out of the universe the
way new stars are born- - -not
and then a l l at o n c e .
but you cross into the concept
that trust is built, as with wires
beams and panels, love, faith
and identity---
I trust him to do this, to not
do that, trust that he won't go
there and will come here, but
i've realized that trust has been
misconstrued with worry, with the
innate desire to control any and
all things that pass by me in their
states.
lately, though, trust had been been
a release, a slack line, a whole box
of blackberries, celery and raisins
pink knuckles, deep breaths and
sky blue nails
i have an armful of things I cannot
let go but they slide out one by one
without my knowledge, trust is a
blind thing, not like hope, because
hope is hoping and trust is trusting
with so much more vigor, less of a
spectacle and more of a private
ceremony, a quiet wedding
appropriated in smiles and
the brush of duchess satin
to and fro, to and fro
to and fro.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015