She looks just like an acorn

Round and forlorn

She says I look like a twig

Bent, behind glasses and a too-big shirt

It’s later in the day and I’m indifferent

We meet in a small space

Like two packages in a FedEx truck

It’s uncomfortable but I’m afraid I’m stuck

She tells me she can’t breathe

I tell her, “It’s your shell, lady, can’t you see?”

I tell her I can’t help her because she’s too far gone

“Besides, I don’t have time,”

She replies, “It’s not you, it’s your fragile spine.”

She went on to say, “I ate every insult they spoke at me and I stopped moving

I can see they never told you that you were enough

So you killed yourself with that academic and doctor stuff”

But here we are meeting

The lonely acorn

And the weathered twig

Individuals but together in that moment live

She tells me, “You can help me if you pray for me and just listen,”

In this exchange we edify each other

It begins

By listening

In our very existence we fight the resistance

I’m helping her out of her shell

And she’s helping me straighten out

In harmony

As we were meant to be