For When People Ask (by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer)

 

I want a word that means

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺,

more than that: a word that means

𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘫𝘰𝘺.

I want the word that says

𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.

The heart is not like a songbird

singing only one note at a time,

more like a Tuvan throat singer

able to sing both a drone

and simultaneously

two or three harmonics high above it—

a sound, the Tuvans say,

that gives the impression

of wind swirling among rocks.

The heart understands swirl,

how the churning of opposite feelings

weaves through us like an insistent breeze

leads us wordlessly deeper into ourselves,

blesses us with paradox

so we might walk more openly

into this world so rife with devastation,

this world so ripe with joy.