Little by little we build the lives we dreamt of.
Little by little I build myself
Or perhaps, chip away
At so much hard concrete
Blocking out the truth
Of who I have always been.
Little by little
I come back to myself.
Remember: we don’t have to
Be or do it all.
Little by little I listen more closely;
Trust what is happening inside me–
This voice that sounds at once
Foreign and also enormously true.
I recognize it. She spoke to me
At 2am in a smokey Brooklyn loft,
Asking me over and over again
To look more closely. Not accusatory but
Curious. Not shaming, but true.
Wise mind, crone woman, looking from above
Or within, even then. I am still not accustomed
To heeding her call.
To getting quiet enough to hear her clearly.
To give her a chance.
These days, little by little, I am trying.
A gentle pause. Calming the urgency.
Take a breath. Tune in.
Everything is waiting for you,
Right here.
The sky is dark now
And my to do list is still very long.
But right now I am here, pen in hand.
It will get done, little by little, most of it.
The rest will wait–till after Paris,
Or April, or whenever the day comes
When her voice calls to me and says,
Now.