When is it the right time
To open the closet door
To look in on a journey paused
To risk the truth and find
Boxes taped up with angry haste
Adventures stifled within four walls

When is the right time
To sit with the papers, the moments, the times
To make the decisions
To be brave in the face of pain and find
Cherished moments stuffed haphazardly away
Flashes of beauty smothered by a storm

When is the right time
To laugh, to cry, to hate, to mourn
To acknowledge the truth
To risk the unpredictable path that leads to
A heart ready, open for healing
And a closet - with room for someone else

the sky
cried heavily
in her pain,
that night
even the moon
hid behind
dark skies
and grieved
with the rain,
the whole universe
attended the funeral
of her heart,
as she buried
in silence
all that
what had become
from her apart.

- n. ib

I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval