As I Was Poem by Henrietta Ezegbe

The message arrived
like a familiar bird
settling for a moment
on a branch
outside my window.

I opened it.

Smiled.

Responded.

Nothing more was needed.

Silence followed,
not heavy,
not sharp,

just silence,
doing what silence does.

Once,
I would have searched it
for hidden rooms,
for unfinished sentences,
for the place
where I had gone wrong,
for deeper meaning.

Now
it is only weather.

It passes
whether I name it
or not.

The path does not ask
who waved from the hillside.

It asks only
whether I will keep walking.

I will.

Not because I have forgotten,
nor because I feel less.

The kindness remains.

So does the gratitude.

But neither requires
my waiting.

The bridge is still there.

I simply no longer dwell upon it.

As I was.

Onward.