It Is Becoming Real | Sabrina Santa Clara

It is becoming real
now that you have seen the first shadow,
when grief ungrounded and left skin too tender
for lighthearted banter.
When the snap back of reflexes,
like hand to heat too hot,
ricocheted the burn
so that you too felt the rawness of tender skin.

If we do this,
we will wound each other,
you and I,
unintentionally.
We will make mistakes
and miss the mark,
and have to make repair,
probably,
a lot more than we’d expected.

If we do this,
I’m likely going to annoy you with
the way I can’t seem to keep liquids in a cup,
or unconsciously have different rules for you and me.
You will, in all likelihood, annoy me in return.

I will stop arranging my face
before you come into the room.
You will watch me flinch
or see my disgust
and all the other parts that live beneath my composure.

And, you know,
I have already seen your ugly feet and raggedy toes,
the way you lose your Zen when
someone’s following you too close,
or cannot, for the life of you,
remember to close the toilet lid
no matter how many times I’ve tried to correct it.

And I am still here.

So, if you stay,
if we say yes to this next corner,
if we are mindful, we may do this exceedingly well —
but we are also certain,
at times,
to do it very badly.

Real is not being loved until we are lovely.
It is finding beauty in your beloved’s puffed
and splotchy devastated face.
It’s choosing each other
over and over again.

So, if we do this…