I would rather be a window than a wall. You could see through me then

and it would matter

to both of us in different ways. Before I was born I had not been meant

to be. Do you think you would have fared

better if I was never a limb on this fragile family tree? Sorrow

still settles like shadows at the roots, leaves gather and I

marvel at the tenacity of regret. When I was a child

the window was my channel to the world. The highway, so far

down below, taunted me, seduced me, invited itself into

my DNA. I left you as soon as I could. And after

all this time I would still rather

be a window than a wall. Brother, I will forgive

myself for being this restless, solitary seeker on the wind.

Choose your color now. Don’t forget your roots, nor your dreams.

Don’t forget you love me. Be a window. Open that sucker up.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019