I’m told people like me
Because I’m a great listener
I hold the space for them to
Be heard and express themselves

It takes a lot of strength to do that.
Like the volcanic basalt stone bowls
Mexican restaurants use to make
Guacamole fresh at the table

They are not delicate or pretty
Being all thick sides and piggy legs
They don’t capture your attention
Like Chinese porcelain or Wedgwood

You might not even know they were there
If they weren’t in use
But they are indestructible
And there is a beauty in that

They hold the sweetness and acid of life
As avocados and spices and garlic and tomatoes
Become paste
They withstand the grinding of life

So, too, I have to have thick skin
To hold the space
For everyone’s sadness and pain and anger
As Life grinds them

But while I’m the molcajete for others,
Who’s mine?