I find comfort in falling

after John McCullough

I find comfort in the ground, stalwart earth

beneath a body I dream of as lifeless;

surrounded by the hands of everyone who knows

sadness deeper than the wells it purports to dwell in –

who have known an ache without a name, 

but a face, identical to their own. 

I find comfort in looking up at a sky 

which spills our secrets and french kisses the stars;

the constellations I hope we all become 

when blood ceases to run, screaming, through our veins. 

I hope there is peace in falling, in the darkness of night. 

I find comfort in our wish to count each day

as lived, survived; a turned page in a library of sorrow. 

I see your sadness and call it home, 

a place we can share and feel beautiful in,

until the misfiring synapses begin to make sense

and concrete feels less warm.

I find comfort in falling, and holding your hand. 

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2021


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