Honeycomb and homecoming

A poem as I process some news and my favorite experiment of all, dance.

Maybe I’m not a haunted house after all
Maybe I’m not room after room of damaged darkness—of locked heartbreak and suffering.

Maybe
Instead
I’m honeycomb

Sweetness— 
Pocketed in hexagonal sanctuaries

Kindness—
Built by years of hard work

Strength—
Fostered by the fortitude of our many shared walls

And hope—
Yes, hope
Carried in unwavering belief that one day we would no longer be alone

Yes, maybe I am not a haunted house after all
Maybe I am honeycomb

And maybe it’s finally time to return to my flowers—
To the places I’ve been
To the people I’ve loved
And above all,
To the truth of my collective being—

That I am honeycomb
I turned sorrow into sweetness, 
pain into kindness
suffering into strength
and isolation into hope 

Yes, I survived because I am honeycomb.

I survived because we danced in the flowers and made honey from heartbreak in
storm after storm after storm.