the colors of the wind

I watch the river cutting through the snow, unforgiving, and I wonder why I am not like that, I wonder why I am the snow falling quietly and sitting still on the lake and I think about how I am the snow that will melt in the sun, but that would put me in the river, and then I laugh at the circle

I remember watching Pocahontas as a small girl on the VCR, I remember when she asked if I could paint with all the colors of the wind and I didn’t know why or how but I knew I could

I’m moving cities so I can sit in warm living rooms with people I love and someone will pet my hair and loosely braid it and I’ll tell the story of the last boy to lose my hand and we’ll laugh because there’s nothing less important in a warm living room full of girls

I had dinner with a woman tonight who has had two husbands and two kids and she has five best friends, she does cold plunges with her friends and they read poems, I told her how I like to think everything happens for a reason, and she said that if there was one thing she knows, it’s that things happen the way they’re supposed to and life will prove it to you again and again

She also told me life can be brutal