Post by Lizzy Burnam 🐞 - Takahē

Takahē

2y

I wrote this poem at 3am and then just laid awake in bed the rest of the night 😵‍💫

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I still wonder which definition she preferred. I didn't get that book back before I left. After college, she grew her hair long and started wearing rose quartz and moonstone on silver chains around her neck. Last I heard, she was working as a social worker, fighting not to love the wards she couldn't save. I told her I wanted to see her again and never followed through.

Justine A girl I used to know had a high, soft voice, gentle as the yellow glow of a buttercup tucked under your chin. We used to smoke weed together and talk about our pain, echoes of trauma bouncing from the mirror of my soul to the mirror of hers and back again. I never felt like a hurt child when we spoke, just brave and perpetual like a redwood tree. I wanted to grow tall enough to shelter her from the storm inside her brain. Sometimes we just sat in her car with the seats down and listened to Lauren Hill and Erykah Badu,

voices sweet as hers and lyrics about moving on with faith and grace. She borrowed my book of dense lyrical essays about the magic of speech and stones and the reciprocity between human life and wind, water, the world around us. She texted me a few days after she started it, said "I love this word: conviviality." There are a few different interpretations of the word-general friendliness, good company and conversation over a long meal, and the more complex use of coexisting creatively and autonomously with people who are different from you, taking only what you need and nothing more, the antithesis of mass consumerism and industrial productivity.

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