Wanting to be Known
The threshold of the door is wide and bright,
A circle gathers, laughing in the glow,
And I am here, caught somewhere in the light,
Desiring more than just the names I know.
I see the surface, beautiful and clear,
The pleasant currents where we dive and play,
But oh, I want the ocean deep from here—
I want to wash the quiet guard away.
I want the late-night, sitting-on-the-floor,
Unvarnished truths, the fears we never speak,
To open wide the heavy, bolted door,
And show the places where the walls are weak.
I long for ties that weather through the storm,
The kind of tether time cannot undo,
Where sitting in the silence keeps us warm,
And being known means being valued, too.
But heavy armor isn’t easily shed,
And stepping closer feels like stepping blind.
The words I mean to say stay in my head,
While careful, safer phrases wait behind.
It is so hard to pull the veil aside,
To offer up the soft, unshielded part,
To trust the spaces where I usually hide
And lay the raw geography of heart.
So here I stand, a newcomer at bay,
With arms that ache to open and extend.
I take a breath, and try to find a way
To cross the bridge from stranger into friend.
More Works by Nancy Ann Creed
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