Alive

Alexandra Kostoulas 

I came from the hard work
that almost killed us
but didn’t
and grit and soil
forged in the fire
I emerged
naked and dripping 
all gilt
and filigree 
and gold

My spirit hammered out 
by burning irons
my flesh made smooth
by hot coals, 
My essence channeled 
into the finest steel
thrust past
heartbreaks
the aching 
the disasters
the scattered bones of friendships 
their petty jealousies
fall behind me in a comet’s tail
I step forward with a bridal train
like my mother, my grandmother,
my great-grandmother 
each one a healer, a migrant, a magician

I follow in their footsteps
a silver shoe pressing
into the moonlight
I forgive the past 
And I kiss my own hand
Full, sentient, awake
Alive—how lucky to be—alive.