I release you, my beautiful and terrible
fear. I release you. You are my beloved
and hated twin, but now, I don’t know you
as myself. I release you with all the
pain I would know at the death of
my children.
You are not my blood anymore.
I give you back to the soldiers
who burned down my home, beheaded my children,
raped and sodomized my brothers and sisters.
I give you back to those who stole the
food from our plates when we were starving.
I release you, fear, so you can no longer
keep me naked and frozen in winter,
or smothered under blankets in the summer.
I release you
I release you
I release you
I release you
I am not afraid to be angry.
I am not afraid to rejoice.
I am not afraid to be black.
I am not afraid to be white.
I am not afraid to be hungry.
I am not afraid to be full
I am not afraid to be hated
I am not afraid to be loved
To be loved, to be loved, fear.
Oh, you have choked me but I gave you the leash.
You have gutted me but I gave you the knife.
You have devoured me but I laid myself across the fire.
I take myself back, fear
You are not my shadow any longer.
I won’t hold you in my hands.
You can’t live in my eyes, my ears, my voice
my belly, or in my heart, my heart
my heart, my heart
But come here, fear,
I am alive and you are so afraid
of dying.
~ from what have you lost? poems selected by Naomi Shihab Nye
(HarperCollins, Greenwillow Books, 1999)
