By Rachel Lynne Sakashita
This is that little star by your skylight window, fading away at sunrise, promising to return in fuller glory. This is awe of the earth’s rotation and all the souls that rotate with it. This is a comet and a longhand letter. This is your doctor, and I’m sorry, but your universe might not pull through, and we’ve tried all we can. This is an earthquake you slept through, but actually, it killed someone— this is the guilt of forgetting in five minutes. This is light with no choice, pervading everything, leaving nothing untouched unless you close your whole heart up. This is its burn and pierce and sting that doesn’t let you keep your secrets. This is you, pulling back all the curtains, anyways.
About the Author
Rachel Lynne Sakashita is a blogger and transcultural ministry worker in Ithaca, NY. Her work can be found at The Clayjar Review, Theozine, and her brand-new Substack, Ewe and Shepherd. Follow her on Instagram at @abrightaubade.