Now That I Know

After everything was said and done, I closed the boxes, found my keys, and came home.

And healed as much as you can when you are missing an arm.

This summer filled up with patients, stethoscopes, and Rashka's greying beard.

I'm back in the north again.

Yesterday I followed the beaten path towards the driver's seat and drove north, to a little theater in the middle of beautifully nowhere.

On the drive, I started to realize the peace that has been growing from the scars.

Peace to me is being the first to wake up in a house full of New England age and standing in the kitchen listening to the floorboards rub their aching joints in a cold weather sound so quiet it's deafening.

Peace to me is hearing the female in Lovely's voice rust away one more link in our chain.

Peace is finally seeing the color wheel in the mountains.

And enjoying the road because it means not having to do anything in the space between surviving.

Peace is hearing a friend understand the same kind of unearthly realism.

Peace is watching a man blush with joy when he sees that the dough he set out has finally risen.

Peace is everything and all and moving forward and letting the dirt settle and give life from the grave between it.

I have taken a step forward from my ragged shuffle backwards.

All I need is one more.

And peace is waiting.