I Hope This Finds You Naked

I Hope This Finds You Naked

I hope this finds you naked—
not in the way of skin,
but in the way of rain:
unplanned, unasked,
a sudden drenching
that leaves the pavement
breathing steam.

I hope it finds you stripped
of all your careful armor—
the polished shoes, the watch
that counts the hours like a jailer,
the lie you told your mother
still coiled in your throat
like a swallowed coin.

I hope it arrives when you’re alone,
kneeling in the garden,
digging for potatoes
with dirt beneath your nails,
and the sun is a raw orange
split open on the horizon.
That’s when truth fits best—
loose and unhemmed,
like laundry on the line.

I hope it finds you reckless,
shattering teacups just to hear
the porcelain scream,
or dancing in the kitchen
with the radio off,
your hips keeping time
to a rhythm only bones remember.

Naked like a wound scabbed over,
tender but alive.
Naked like a streetlamp
after midnight, humming
to itself in the fog.
Naked as a letter
never sent,
ink still wet with the weight
of all it couldn’t say.

When it finds you—
and it will