Part 1
Moored to Your Fate

You never thought it would be her—
the one who once traced your hairline
with lullabies,
who held your hand across the street,
who held up your name,
like a promise that the world would
never break you—Hope.

But sometimes—love wears a cruel mouth,
fingers that once soothed now shove you under —
you learn to swallow the tide,
to keep quiet when her rage bleeds
her voice upon you—Hope.

Part 2
The Haunting Storms

And when you run away to find shelter,
the storms do not ask if you are ready.
They do not care if your ragged bones
are already cracked.
If your heart, heavy as a stone,
has already been tossed away into
deep, dark water.

Still, they sink and you drown, they
sink and you drown—you hate it—
hating who you’ve become—sunken,
cursing your name—Hope.

Part 3
Unmoored

One day,
you wake to a  perfect calm—
not sure how you got here,
only that the air is crisp,
with daylight most forgiving.

Beside you,
a younger version of yourself,
small fingers tracing your hairline,
as if mapping a way back.
She grabs and hugs you,
pushing her tiny nose into your neck.
She kisses your cheek and whispers in
your heart—thank you.

Thank you for not giving up.
Thank you for holding up my
name to your heart,
like a promise that the world would
never break us.

Thank you—for becoming the oar,
the mast, the unsinkable hull
that does not break—having me safe
as your stowaway.

Thank you—learning to row
with bleeding hands,
to steer by the stars no matter what—
the punishing rain blinding you,
and the wind lashing at your face.

Thank you for taking my hand and
carrying me across the oceans.

The sky splits wide with light,
a flood of emotion makes you both fall
to your knees.
The brightest shore fills you up
like a slow hymn, and you—
breathless—
standing grateful
in this perfectly made morning—
a day to remember—Hope.