Dominique Jones * January 19, 2012 * “Love Letters To My Body”

Still Well

It doesn’t come as a shock to me
that I keep getting visits–
less frequently–
from panic and the visage of pain.
Dressed up still
in their Sunday bests,
I have learned to preach
from them and to them less.
I’ve discovered I am not
descendents of theirs;
they just stop by from time to time.
Since they exist, however,
they are as welcome
in the holy structures of my soul
as any other entity.
I imagine grief sitting there
stiffly on a wooden pew,
smelling a little dampness
from my pond heart outside
and staring through the complicated
stained glass of my eyes,
trying to be silent
as a Summer afternoon,
to hear my
higher self tell it
all is well.