hope / is a secret / is closed doors / is nestled in the way wind softens when it meets glass / is the hum of the kettle before it sings to the plant on the windowsill you water even though it hasn’t sprouted / is the smell of banana bread before it’s done baking / is the jewel-toned dreams I’ve been having lately / is the unlit room at the end of the hall / is your grandmother’s cockatiel singing the both of them to sleep / is the way your phone hums after months of silence / is their voice crackling through bad reception telling you they always knew you’d call / is the memory of laughter braided so tight it still feels like a handshake across state lines / is the shared shorthand for everything that hurts the way they know before you’ve got the courage to say it / is their silence on the other end of the line filling the gaps you couldn’t manage to close yourself / learning to dance to the sing of the sting / is the ache that feels lighter when split between two / is the matching necklaces we got when we were fourteen the metal worn down tarnished by time and sweat and things we thought we knew / is the things we keep heavy around our necks like something we can’t let go of / is not dazzling not loud not the sharp bite of joy but the soft breath of maybe / is the quiet hum of waiting / is the feeling of something coming home
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