Today I will not punish them.
Today I will gather the rocks, which my sadness has worn smooth,
And make a garden path.
I will lead Sadness to the bank of a clear, calm pool and
Let it rest there.
I will welcome the fog of depression and let it decorate the
Leaves and spider's webs with drops of moisture.
I will dig a fire pit for rage, giving it a space to burn as it wishes.
I will sit with them, dance with them, sing with them,
Howl with them.
They will no longer be other, but instead, given a garden.
Given a space.
I will tend this space, and drink my coffee there.
The freedom it offers is tangible.
Joy is here too, of course.
Making welcomed appearances, when it
Dances in the light of the fire, glistening with droplets of fog,
Singing.
About the Creator
Frances Leah Brown
I am a singer, a story teller on stage and in print, and a lover of family and nature.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was amazing ❤️❤️💕