The roses arrived on fire, tips burnt out sunset mirrors.
I am read, opened like a diary
At the threshold
they turn me,
Him already there,
waiting.
Category: River
Healing, movement, grief release, becoming.
Grief gathered me to my heart.
Reminded me clocks die.
Love keeps longer than we do.
In that wake of earth,
heaped soil
crowned by flowers, pure blood-red.
My heart breathed,
quaking open.
You and me
spilled out
my eyes,
mouth,
and womb.
My knees were meant to hit earth.
Mercy rose in my tears.
Grace,
the spine of gratitude.
Strands I washed,
full of heavy emotion.
Grief worn tangible
for a year
before I could bear
carrying less.
The ritual.
Braid cut off,
shaved close enough
to feel sunshine
kissing my temple.
A section of hair
given up
to hear better
what the rain cries about,
angels singing,
my God
and His laughter.
I sat beneath the shears
wondering
if I’d feel this horrible relief
had I done it sooner.
I believe in perfect timing.
Even tragedy
holds mirror
It is right.
Sheared down,
I am softer now.
I let go.
Quartz facets
speak.
I gather each voice
quietly.
Release.
Golden honey glowing,
a light draws me forward.
I run into the sunshine,
the starshine,
the moon,
wide open.
I reclaim myself
from lying too long
in the cracks
that were you and I.
Daisies grow.
His attention bat me
into the clouds.
No mind on heights.
My wings locked.
I fell from the sky
into the sea,
breaking through glass.
Memories,
webbed netting,
dragging me down.
Flightless lungs.
Scooping out water
with feathers.