Zebra Seeking Spoons

Some days

living in this body

feels like wandering

a quiet field alone.

The world moves quickly—

hooves pounding forward,

plans unfolding—

while you are counting spoons

in your pocket

like fragile currency.

You learn the language of limits.

You learn the weather of pain.

You learn how quiet a room can feel

when no one understands

why standing up

can be an accomplishment.

But then—

a message arrives.

a hand reaches back.

a voice says,

I see you.

Another zebra

in the tall grass.

Suddenly the field is not empty.

Someone walks beside you

when the path turns steep.

Someone sits with you

when the spoons are gone

and the drawer is full of knives.

They do not fix the storm

inside your bones.

They do not erase the ache.

But they stay.

And that staying

is a kind of medicine.

Because survival

was never meant

to be a solo journey.

Zebras find each other.

Hoofbeats echo together.

And in the quiet spaces

between pain and exhaustion,

connection becomes

the strength

that keeps us standing. 🦓