Oh, that book
It’s been tucked on a shelf, I tried to forget where
But I know it

Damn, it looks so sweet, young, innocent
Just a girl etched in relief on its cover
Against a background of contrasting expectations

I run my fingers over it and feel the fibers
Woven in patterns
I see the worn binding that still tries
to hold the pages shut

For so many years I refused to open it
But deep stories and histories untold don’t fade
Unopened books can only wear on the outside

So I have read it more of late
Even recounted some chapters in careful utterances
But history cannot be atoned simply in the retelling

And here I find myself stepping in pattern
You across from me
Your voice and mine
And it’s so hard to meet your eyes
Why does simply moving and speaking on this part of the journey
Slay me so wide open?

The little girl on the cover looks at me
Her painted eyes know my discomfort
She doesn’t want to perform what she is not ready for
She doesn’t want to be compelled or pushed
But she can’t speak up
Against the background of contrasting expectations

We step again, our feet woven in patterns
I look at you
Bells on my ankles echo my steps
My voice is a bit quiet, I know
But I’m still singing
Go easy on me
My eyes are painted on the cover