I wish I could go back to the moment when
I crawled out of my mother,
Already holding the knowledge of who she is
And who I am
And how those pieces fit together.

I would have done things so differently.
I would have talked back more
Challenged the status quo more
Laughed more
Cried less

I think about how this would have shaped
Who I am today.
Who I am right now, standing on this platform
Waiting for this train.
Would I even be here?

I think about the pain I've carried.
I think about the pain that I've chosen not to carry.
I think about the pain I had no choice
But to leave behind.

My father, seemingly so stoic and comforting.
Now that the veil of my anger is lifting,
I see the control of fear and excuses.
And the pain which takes me by surprise.

Knowing what I know now, would I have made
The same choices
Which have carved out my heart?
What would the shape now appear to be?
Bigger? Smaller? Unchanged?
Would it matter?

And then it dawns on me:
The shape of my present heart, how it matters.
It matters?
It matters.

It matters what I do with it.
It matters who shares in it.
It matters who nurtures it.
It matters who claims it.

These choices are the charge,
The challenge,
The matter
Which will carve it, and shape it to be
The heart that can stand to have another
Crawl out of her to propose
The next generation of wonderings.

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