I stir with the sunrise
and sleep with the stars
and I am tired of calling this
It is not lucky
to do what is entirely
Gratitude is good, but this is not that.
This is a subtle kind of guilt that says
one has more than one should.
So I say, ‘I’m so lucky’
and every time those words slip out
I uphold the story of the world.
The one that’s killing us.
The story in which we don’t stir
but are jolted awake and thrust,
confused and depleted
into days we are not ready to meet.
We have created madness,
called it normal,
and labelled anyone who dares step outside
I will not call myself lucky
for waking with the sun
and bedding down with the moon.
I will, instead, shriek the madness of the world from my bed
until we have all become ‘lucky’
and lucky has become normal
and normal has been remembered
as the natural way of things.
Love and courage,