My ancestors lived through many days like these,
Only their meals didn’t come with receipts.
But the energy that cooked always came free
And the thoughtful left breadcrumb journal entries.
Time is a wheel,
turning
I am a bridge,
burning.
If you make it across,
learning
Blow me out and make a wish
yearning.
Then the day you reach the other side,
I’ll collapse in the river I cried.