When your mother tells you Honey, you wear sadness so well,
as if it’s just an evening gown, something to slide on
and sashay around in for cocktails, tell her about the time
your three-year-old cousin found a tiny bird skull in the backyard
and tried to dismantle it with his hands, and how you could
almost feel his fingers pushing through the cavities in your own.
When your college roommate stands in front of the mirror
in only her underwear, sucking in her ribs like a museum exhibit,
hand her a towel and wipe the smeared lipstick and tears from her face;
whisper beautiful words like revelation and change, thunderstorm
and better than this into her ear.
Remember that the war in Afghanistan will only last so long.
Think back to your high school days, when your physics teacher
taught you about the speed of light and torque,
but was at a loss for words when you asked her how to define
self-pity. e=mc squared can only do so much.
Even Abraham Lincoln had those days
when he looked in the mirror
and his black top hat matched the color of his feelings.
Some feelings will stain you so badly
that you won’t be able to tell the difference
between violet and fuschia.
Eat up your loneliness like fire,
then rise from the ashes
as gracefully as a phoenix,
strong and proud.