Gretchen Rockwell | One Day I Will Love Gretchen Rockwell
after Ocean Vuong
Gretchen, you need to let go.
Don’t worry about the sly eyes,
the whispers behind hands. You hold
yourself when no one else will.
Remember this. Your body is your body
& that will never change—even if it will
grow into something else: sunflower
seeking the light, angular shark gliding
through dark water, first frost, phoenix
christening itself in flame. Gretchen.
What do you want to do? Change your name
if you want, or how you present yourself—
it doesn’t matter. The black hole of your past
becomes a singularity where everything breaks
into light. The white hole of your future collapses
into parallel dimensions, each impossible
to imagine. Are you paying attention, Gretchen?
I can’t tell. The world is a body to inhabit,
permeable & wide. Really. It’s waiting for you
to make a mistake—no, that's the anxiety talking.
Say instead it’s waiting for you to fill it with meaning.
Gretchen, the best is yet to come. The clouds
around your sunlit sea will clear. The future
is unknowable—& aren’t you glad? Say your name,
relish its mouthfeel. Gretchen Rockwell. Don’t
you love its sound? Gretchen, you know
there is so much to love: your body, this world.
Someday they will even feel like home.
