It was another November
So unlike this year’s.
We were both children then,
Still learning how to tell a story that we own,
Still trusting the wrong hands,
Still praying to every God without belief.
Now, we are grown.
Almost a decade of Novembers
Have moved between us now.
We know these days
How to speak our own words;
Whose hands are worth holding;
That God hears everything we say;
That November sees us for all we once were
And all we will be.