Arrows, blades, spears and knives
fill my basket.
Copper hues and dark braided metal
speckle my field of vision.
Why does war look so pretty?
I am choosing my Peace these days so
I have to re-purpose these things
or give them away.
Is it right to find them a new home?
Maybe I’ll burn them instead and make
a pretty fence for the garden.
No one told me retirement from my anger
would look like this.
I liked it better when my hands had something
to do, even when it was awful.
The new war I fight isn’t war it just feels that way
as I don’t know how to inhabit this body.
God help us all, in this sacred unlearning.
Let me break the lineage of those that came before me,
and do only the angels proud.
In kindness. With kindness. Do kindness.