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Here,
I’ll use the paint you
Handed me and
I’ll use the canvas
You taught me
To cut
And staple.

Here, I’ll
Use the rake you
Handed me
And
I’ll drag it
Along earth
And flesh.

Here, I’ll use
The book you
Opened to me
And I’ll
Knock against
Thoughts and ideas,
Ancient.

But you
Can’t see me from where
You sit now,
Can you?
I sat in your
Basement
And
Toiled in your
Orchard
And
Groped through your
Stacks,

But I had the answer
In me
All along.
And you, who
Proudly boast
So many languages cannot
Hear
The words I already had.

There.
Is.
More.
You earthbound fighter,
You planet-hugging hoper—
You cannot see.
There.
Is.
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