Poetry by Thai Lynne
the children fall asleep
my skin absorbs the violent silence
and I come alive: unfolding, expanding
like a set of lungs, a deep breath
and I exhale stardust and simplicity
but there is a restlessness in letting life decide
which direction to point my painted toes
and when to lean in but my body resists
there is a prickling under my skin
and its name is not Satisfaction
I leave it outside the door with the snow on my boots
and I unfold inside this house that isn’t mine
the flickering heat of the fireplace
is like aloe on my sunburnt skin
soothing the ache beneath and I yearn for the peace
that comes from living with intention
as though I were the architect of my own life
rather than a spectator, and I envy
this house pregnant with purpose
and its name is Contentment
a place where those of us
the weary Empaths, overwhelmed
can curl up with a glass of wine in the hot tub
and flirt with desire and design
and oh! the spicy heat that drowns us
under the burden of a life not fully lived
can either wear the mask of crippling defeat
or shining renaissance
I choose the fire.
Thai Lynne is a stay-at-home mom of three, who works construction part-time with her husband, is pursuing a BA in Creative Writing and a freelance writing career. Her work has appeared in Borrowed Solace Magazine, The Hunger Journal, Twist in Time Magazine, Zimbell House Publishing, Dodging the Rain and elsewhere.
