There are earthquakes no one feels
unless they’re standing in my shoes.
The core has a silent rumble,
where whispers sound like screams.
The ground stays quiet,
but the plates shift underneath.
I know the sound of this tremor..
it isn’t mine,
yet it moves through me
like a tornado passing through clear skies.
I can’t stop the storm from forming,
but I become the shelter
that shifts into a home.
That anchor.
The safe space.
So I stay,
while remaining rooted.
Letting the fault line pass
without teaching the earth
that it must break to be heard.