Both Hands

There are mountains.
They will not always be there.

Nor will love or blood.
Leaving is a constant state, so stop holding on.

If I understood how to be larger than myself
exile, death, and heartbreak would not affect me so.

A single hand clenches rage in a fist.
Two hands bowled fill with prayer and offering.

I cannot take back what has been said
or offer what has been unsaid for too long.

History is a human construction
made of words and interpretation.

Remember that. Words. And interpretation.
I urge you to write your own story. Win or lose.

I am leaving, now. I follow the mountains.
I use two hands to wave goodbye.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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