What You Cannot See

What You Cannot See

written by: Heidi Baker

@heidib19

I wish to drop down out of sight.
I speak of myself and the load I carry:
Pockets full of doubt, handfuls of hope,
buckets of ignorance hung around my neck.

If not for this last burden, of not knowing
how to escape, I would vanish from here.
I could tip-toe. I could crawl. I could evaporate,
a silver mist barely noticed,
coming together again as legs, arms,
ears, memories intact,
in a place safer than where I cannot leave.

I am from any country on the globe, bent from
and bending back against loving insanity
played out behind too many front doors.
You see my small size, my wide-open eyes,
and mistake me for innocent, unwounded.

I cannot show you any marks; none were left.
Or I will not show you. I have yet to find my voice.
She floats beside me in the night time
whispering a golden melody, “I’ll fly away oh Glory,
I’ll fly away, in the morning…”

When in years hence we meet,
backs straight, full-sized,
I will have a tale of strength to share.

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Heidi Baker

Heidi Baker is a second-generation poet and story teller whose writing reflects inner landscapes shaped by journeys of miles and other measures: from Illinois to Arizona, work to home, childhood to adulthood to parenthood. Gentle, imaginative, full of honesty and wonder, her clear writing captures the sacredness of everyday moments. In addition to her growing body of published works, Heidi creates space for other writers, youth and adult, through facilitation of workshops and groups.

Latest posts by Heidi Baker (see all)

• Remind Me - March 28, 2020
• What You Cannot See - August 9, 2019
• Beauty Is Not In The Mirror - September 2, 2018