I still don’t know how to fold a fitted sheet or how to wire a plug.
If my tyre goes flat I will be calling road-side assist.
I am thirty one and I think I have forgotten how to pray.
I still get lost in malls and have to ask my mom how to remove red wine stains.
No, I don’t know how to fold a fitted sheet.
But I do know how to feel the wind on my skin and dance over rocks on the edge of a cliff.
I don’t need help making the perfect cup of coffee
Or loving two cat-creatures.
I am thirty one and I have forgotten how to pray
But I see God in the underside of Starlings’ wings, bright red against pale blue autumn skies.
I know how to plaster grazed knees
And poly-filler the cracks in a broken heart.
No, I don’t know how to wire a plug,
But I do know how to shock a heart back to beating
And what those squiggly lines on an ECG reading mean.
Yes, I still get lost in malls
But I do know my way around a summer sunset
And how to give myself to this world;
To collapse into bed at the end of every day,
Exhausted but exhilarated.
Full to the brim.