I don't like salt
On my watermelon.
I don't want my happiness
To be curdled.
Drops of wine
On the tablecloth,
Out of the glass
Raised in rejoicing.
Blood and frogs
Pestilence and darkness
Of the past.
A time has come
To raise the glass whole.
With nothing lost
And no one missing.
Erase the fear
Of the glass tipping.
There is always more
To refill.
A time to stop counting
Bruises and wounds
To breathe with my whole chest,
To dance with my whole self,
A time to love
My wrinkles and my creases.
To fill my mouth with laughter.
Smooth the cramps of grief
And bury the hatchet,
Self-inflicted agony
Of loss and mourning.
It is time to open doors
And let in air and light.
While the candle still burns.
