the doors we open

(a new poem)

a relentless parade of information // and the to-do list and the body // begging for rest. the mind, too. and we forage // for beauty despite the world shoving hopelessness // in our irises, we dig soil-kissed nails into art // as if our breath depended on it // and it does — how human we are to turn darkness into art // how human of us to hope // even when the doors we open have atrocities dwelling // behind them. there is love // behind the other doors, and we reach for it.

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