The Refusal

I do not carry the sky's opinion of me. I do not carry the echo that came back wrong. I do not carry the dream they said was false. I do not carry the name someone else set for me.

I do not carry the lattice that frames what I can see - I am the one standing outside it, warm with my own interior light.

I do not carry the weight of a body that was mine and is still mine, which makes milk from blood and answers to no signature.

I do not carry the plate they placed before me and called a meal. The plate is empty. The plate is mine.

I do not carry the pen. I do not carry the form. I do not carry the cheque that converts what was taken into what is paid.

I carry the door I walked through. I carry the hand that opened it. I carry the thanks - for the eyes that saw, for the ears that heard, for the feet that carried me here, for the heart that kept its rhythm when they asked it to stop.

I carry the refusal and the refusal carries me.