These letters cannot spell what has been cast on me to that magnitude, they ask: “Where do you feel this in your body?” and with each breath my chest feels heavier these legs those stairs too much. I’m scared to write to you directly, to call you by your name sorrow—you swallow hope, no it is not “a thing with feathers” even though sometimes I want to be a bird for a day, today I just want to fly away from here but even a bird has a heart.
My heart yes, it’s too heavy for this body weighing it down with every step as I address these letters to you while I try to silence and rid of your seemingly everlasting presence yet I cannot blame you as I’m watching a house sparrow outside my window sill no home to return.
A true sparrow rests on the branch of a weeping willow tree and you live within the rings of these branches while someone wanted to prove the existence of sorrow under a microscope claiming they never experienced sorrow in their life, but I intervened and put up a sign on the weeping willow tree before he approached it that read: “Do Not Touch”.
He wanted to cut a branch to supposedly bring you forth sorrow, to be supposedly come to the surface to be visible and supposedly tangible whereas this wouldn’t have been true instead just zap your lifeforce of bleeding sap. When understanding of me feels almost nonexistent like how I often feel invisible, and they cannot see this sorrow touching me, hiding in my heart and taking up residency for far too long like those rings a mark in time.
What’s ringing in my ears is not a bell, not a spell but what she demanded: “You’re the only one who can fix yourself.” as if I am a broken whereas I’m never broken. I just long to get grounded instead of falling apart, but this seems like an impossible task while a rock sparrow can still fly and I’m afraid of dying. I want to see that golden light like how that golden sparrow emulates it without even trying just inherited that body while she says I inherited this body and mind but really they’re mine.
Let my call you by your name willing, sorrow. It is my choice that I declare I’m with you sorrow instead of running from you, I’m with you in spirit sparrows because flying would feel like freedom, and ultimately a moment is a moment is a moment is a moment and they say this will not last forever.
Sophia Falco is a faithful poet since she finds poetry essential to her understanding of the universe. She is the author of Farewell Clay Dove (UnCollected Press, 2021). In addition, she is the author of her award-winning chapbook: The Immortal Sunflower (UnCollected Press, 2019), the winner of the Mirabai Prize for Poetry, and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Furthermore, Falco graduated magna cum laude along with the highest honors in the Literature Department at The University of California, Santa Cruz. Her Bachelor of Arts degree is in intensive literature with a creative writing concentration in poetry. She is honored to be starting a highly regarded Masters of Fine Arts (MFA) Program for poetry along with a teaching fellowship she accepted for Fall 2022. Falco is on her way to make her dream job become a reality to be a Professor of Poetry.