Normal and orthodox and expected
broke her bones;
cracked lightning through her Self,
until she split in two
“My life is so thin, thin, thin”
she said, falling to her knees.
“I can’t stop weeping into the mix;
all this running is pushing jagged bone
through flesh and skin…
so much blood.”
“Stir the fresh blood into life’s picture,” I said.
When the white of her eyes expanded and shouted,
That sort of thing just isn’t done!
I offered a smile, curtsied, straightened my shoulders,
and ripped my chest open until I, too, bled…
showing the mirror of my broken past
painting a pliant new whole.
She dusted off her wounds,
oned her Self
and rose to meet my gaze;
in the dark of her eyes,
I tasted the scent of wholing grace…
blood and mirrors and grace.
for Poets United, Poetry Pantry 261; and for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Outlawyer, aka Karin, asks us to think of “grace”. So I did.) To celebrate the fourth anniversary of The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads on Nelson Mandela International Day, Kerry O’Connor reminds us to ask ourselves, “What can I do?” Well, my Wicked Luvs, I can give my words… infused with love and witchy living.
“Birth of a Faerie”, by SunshineShelle
It’s not déjà vu; I’ve shared this painting before… It felt appropriate, again