You, charging up that hill
Heedless immoderate thing, sturdy terracotta child
You fall often, but seldom cry
And often I tell you, Sometimes you gotta eat the pain.
Sometimes you gotta surf it
You run with your eyes your arms your heart
flung open
You run downhill too fast
You will be crushed
in a thousand different ways but
I remember I didn’t care either when
I was a sun-gilded Belleek earth baby
Greedy hungry thing
Falling is not the same as being pushed you tell me
the night of your grievous pain
and you shake with sorrow in your chest and
I shake with murder in mine
You tell me you will fling it all open again
You already know you’re not done running
You are not made of glass, or china or terracotta
He hasn’t killed you
Pinched out your flame with careless fingers
No one will see this part but you, is what you tell me
Helpless, I speak to your bowed head
Eat the pain.
Or surf it.