To Name the Elephant

To Name the Elephant

How do I talk about that which cannot be named? How
is it that both names, exact count of letters, yet I

could scribble Satan, but not the other, without hesitation?
The news trumpets the looming threat, rattling my nerves

while cueing me to the local pulse. This material body
that still inspires, trembles at its core.

First they came for the...
Then they came for the...
Then they came...

What if they come...?

Yet, afraid I am to speak or name
the elephant in the room.

But silence is intolerable.

I can't pretend nothing is wrong when wrong
is happening around. How then, can I stand

for what's right and true? How can I note
what's wrong without naming? Do I possess

prudence as a virtue or an excuse?
The threat is near. In the area. It is real.

How about the dreams and people I wish
to protect? One command periling to erase

our years of labor. It has not breached. Still,
it breeds fear. Anger too. Right amount to draw

strength and will to rest in a ready stance, as the beast
parades its power. Speaking up has a price, so does

staying quiet and acquiescent. This physical makeup
of me: my complexion; my culture; my nationality,

how they weigh on my openness of speech to partake
in the camaraderie. So, I dig a hole.

Succeeding the apprentice who emptied his secret
about the emperor’s goat ears, I whisper mine too:

there is an elephant in the room.

If you know what I'm talking about, and you find yourself in a similar predicament, know that I know this place.

You are welcome to reach out to sit together.

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🍯 The Dandelion Notes ~ Writer’s Fund

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New to The Dandelion Notes?

Hello & welcome — I am glad you are here. I am Rosslyn Chay, facilitator, healer, poet—each of these, a very human attempt to mend our fractured relationship with our nature and free the truth of who we are from the weight of our history. The Dandelion Notes are field notes on my attempts.