by Stef Nunez
Through the darkness of teenage memories,
of adolescence, of sickly sweet neglect
you can sometimes hear Tracy Chapman’s
rugged croon, telling stories.
Her distinct voice tucked me in at night,
reminded me it was ok to feel
deeply, without apologies.
It was ok to worship my own being
My blossoming heart in
the coolness in her cry, mixing
with lyrics that burn the edges
of what I thought I knew love was.
She saw me through her music.
In turn I saw myself as small.
A yearning thing still capable
of great depth and self-healing.
But for years I couldn’t listen
To Unsung Psalm without thinking
of you. All I felt was sharp, angry
tears at the way you hurt me, left me.
Tracy Chapman became a sad sound.
Until I peeled away what shackled me
to that pain and regret. The past I
wiped away the dust from.
Telling Stories and
saying Hello
to her again.
Never Goodbye though.
Always in the same tone.
I call to my lover with it.
Because I love her I’ll
forever sing this psalm.
Stef Nunez is the editor-in-chief of Sage Cigarettes Magazine.
