Matter
The old tales tell of gods shaping clay
to bring new life out of ash
An old tale told leaves dust as remains
Ashes of old lives lived
I matter, I scream, into worn old walls
Carved with the life I have lived
In matter, like clay, shaped by hands into me
No matter the cost, I have lived
A brief wail of a life, no one near to hear tell
But it matters to one life at least.
If at dawn it came down, the old tale told now,
Wrought fury, a calamitous day
There in the rubble, in the dust of the ruins,
I’ll be scraping old ash into clay
Two hands in that matter, to make new life that matters
I live here. I matter. I will be.
