Words are funny, sometimes.
It used to be that "awesome" and "awful" meant much the same thing.
The kind of thing that, well--
that hits you hard when you turn your eyes skyward at night,
when the white-flecked black of the void opens up,
as if to swallow you whole if not for the heady laws of heavy nature holding you tight
that wrenches the breath from your lungs when you lean over the red-dust edge of the earth,
layers and layers and ancient layers pressing history upon each other,
that is, even by name, Grand.
But now, we know "awful."
the heart-drop, stomach-lurch, swaying-on-your-feet feeling
of losing someone, watching them walk away in the aftermath
of the angry words you swear you can still see hanging in the air behind them,
trailing silver like lost stars.
But when layers of laughter, kindness, happiness
press too hard upon friendship too ancient to let go of,
they will wrench the breathless relief of "I'm sorry" from sore lungs--
Arms will reach, blotting out regretful trails,
And that, we know, is "awesome."
This poem is about: