Ruba. For the bird that helped form you, the mother that called you, for the soft soil of yourself that you are rooted in, for the sinew of your spirit that tries again and again and again, that finds a home in a corner and something inside yourself that refuses to surrender, that would not bow to ‘what’s the point’, that kept listening, kept returning to yourself, kept trying, kept moving though war, chaos, losses, endless noise…finding that you could build universes in any corner, refuse to bury any dream, and raise your living words, your breath, yourself grown beyond this small sky, indeed, unstoppable. Ruba, far beyond your years, your borders, your corner. What is there to say, but to bow in silence. full of deep gratitude. Molly
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Molly
Ruba. For the bird that helped form you, the mother that called you, for the soft soil of yourself that you are rooted in, for the sinew of your spirit that tries again and again and again, that finds a home in a corner and something inside yourself that refuses to surrender, that would not bow to ‘what’s the point’, that kept listening, kept returning to yourself, kept trying, kept moving though war, chaos, losses, endless noise…finding that you could build universes in any corner, refuse to bury any dream, and raise your living words, your breath, yourself grown beyond this small sky, indeed, unstoppable. Ruba, far beyond your years, your borders, your corner. What is there to say, but to bow in silence. full of deep gratitude. Molly