Lisa Suhair Majaj Quotes

Did my parents know
that what they planted,
roots against the drought,
would survive?

how a word transforms us
seedling taking delicate hold
or a weed choking the tender plants
news enters us and puts down roots

The distance between one breath and another
is like the miles starlight travels to reach
my dreams.

She took her slice of life
then gave without measuring
or counting

ground resilient beneath our feet, sky
glimmering
between branches of trees older than any of us.

Now we walk out into the tunnel of days
and a million memories rustle

No matter how far you've come, remember:
the starting line is always closer than you think.

Who knew the past would follow us so far,
years collapsing like an ancient accordion,
scraps of memory tucked like torn photographs
into the sockets of our eyes?

consider the infinite fragility of an infant's skull,
how the bones lie soft and open
only time knitting them shut

so I hoard memories
sort them for seeds to plant
pray they root

consider a delicate porcelain bowl
how it crushes under a single blow-
in one moment whole years disappear

May we all fit together like this: trees, birds, sky,
people, separate elements in a living portrait,
outlines smoothed by the forgiving wash
of lingering light. Whatever the skins we live in,
the names we choose, the gods we claim or disavow,
may we be like grains of sand on the beach at night:
a hundred million separate particles
creating a single expanse on which to lie back
and study the stars. And may we remember the generosity
of light: how it travels through unimaginable darkness,
age after age, to light our small human night.

what's left but
shards of memory
smoothed and hoarded,
shrapnel griefs,
a few regrets?

Today his words surround me
with the quiet intensity of growing things,
roots planted a long time ago
lacing the distances of my heart.

Part of it hides behind the headlines
where this shard of the story will never be told.