Trembling Hands

this is gonna hurt (and that’s how you know it’s real)

i didn’t come here to take notes in a lab coat.

i came with my knees dirty.with my palms open.with ink under my fingernails

and too much heart

for someone who still flinches

when people call her Caroline.

i didn’t come to study the fishbowl.

i came to dive in.

mouth closed.

eyes wide.

lungs burning with the names

of people who stayed

and people who couldn’t.

i came to love

without possession.

to observe without

dissecting the soul of a neighborhood

into clean academic language.

because you can’t footnote

the smell of collards from your neighbor’s door.

you can’t cite the way grief settles

in a city’s sidewalks.

you just sit with it.

you sit with her.

you hold his story like a baby bird

not too tight, not too loose.

you let it blink at you

tremble a little, and stay.

you let your own hands shake.

because this is gonna hurt.

and that’s how you know you’re finally doing it right.

you’re finally

writing or something bigger than yourself. -CDE