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.