It is a time for heartening.
The time for hardening is no more.
Some may not know the difference
As they have only ever known
Have only ever been taught
How to harden
How to withhold
How to maintain the image
Of “pull yourself together.”
Everything we know
Is breaking into pieces.
When I was 12 years old
I wanted to cry.
It was the first day of 6th grade
I didn’t know anyone in my class.
My mom gave me mascara that morning.
As she showed me how to apply,
She shared the secret:
With mascara, I would not cry
(or else I would smudge the mascara
And then everyone would know my fear).
I wore it like a bandage, covering
The fear in my big brown eyes.
I did not cry. Bravery
does not come with tears
I believed.
I am made of salty water.
I hearten more than I harden.
I hearten for reasons I don’t even know
And for reasons I understand.
I hearten when I read about
the mother who was the 4th
Person to die in my city from The Virus.
“I don’t want my mom to die in vain.
Please, take this seriously.”
My mother touches my arm when I go to visit
And I ripple in fear. What if.
I hearten when I see you cry–
a roommate, a friend, a student, family.
But I do not always cry with you.
Heartening does not mean
I cry my own tears
When you are crying yours.
You need your time to cry
without me stealing your sadness
to dress it up as my own.
(It does not mean I cannot cry later
because I often do, grieving my way).
Heartening is holding presence
Heartening is being with me
Being with you
Being with world and
Feeling squishy and vulnerable
Like we could get stepped on.
Heartening is not knowing
Never knowing
Exactly what happened
But holding presence
All the same.
I don’t want to harden
Into one who cannot identify
What emotions I am feeling
And where they are scratching
at my insides.
I want to be one who knows
That my stomach pains are whispering
“This is not your fault,”
That my womb weeping tells me
“It is time for forgiveness”
That my leg twitch growls
“Let it go, let go, run.”
I want to speak the language of my body
That language soft to the touch
Ripe to the smell
Hot to the skin
Rippling in the limbs.
This language of heartening is mine.
