In the Room.
And then, at some point, I slipped back into the Golden room.
Because I saw people who laughed softly instead of foaming at the mouth. They laughed because they knew surely the insult was no true reflection, and that actually made it kind of amusing. I slipped back into the Golden room because I read a book. Teenagers neglected by the grand scheme of things, blossoming into poets anyway. Making watercolors about their dreams of pregnancy and college, or other great things. And because someone kind left laughter on the wall.
I slipped back in the place where I am joy. Where I am patience and I am listener and I am eager generosity. I didn’t drag myself into the Golden room and no one else did either.
I slipped back into it. Fell like a feather and settled like sand.
I am still a fire to be lit. I can still rage when its right.
But I’m back in the Golden room and glad that it happened.
