*Note: This version of this poem is not the most recent/updated version. However, the only place I'm aware of having a copy of the most recent revision is on a hard drive that died on Sunday and from which the data has not been extracted as of yet. Sad_face.*
first, it was a thing without a name,
now it's a book on your coffee table
a delivery from fed ex,
a night spent with a lover.
in the space in between
it took shape and form
yet remained shadow.
it still hides in shadow,
though it's taken shape.
You keep it in the shadows,
afraid to share too much of it,
afraid of the damage it could do,
while at other times
you revel in its beauty,
its multitude of meanings for you.
it's not for dinner-table conversation.
you speak of it in hushed whispers
with like-minded people,
so grateful for their friendship.
you embrace it,
for so long ashamed,
now you know there's no other way you can be.
and the end,
you know no end to this.
only a beginning, and a middle that goes on as long as you can foresee
filled with violence, pain, beauty, and awakening
over and over again.
copyright 2010 Katherine Andrews