When I was a young girl
revelation came to a small house
on a gravel road where agony
mossed the north side of dysfunction.
Angry words never reached
the roots of why … They just
left the broken bleeding.
When bitter shrank the walls,
I ran to where the wild things go
and buried my tears among
cottonwood seeds.
I roamed creek beds, watermelon vines,
and honeysuckle fences until a mockingbird song
bid me to sit and rest beneath its nest.
Open souled rhema came to me
in a psalm delivered on the wind.
“You are a child of earth and wings.
This world of three acres is your freedom.
Among decay, apple trees, bird,
deer, and rabbit are lessons to learn,
stories to tell, ties too strong to be severed.
The butterfly spirit lives in your heart,
wherever you fly hope will never desert you.”
So many years have weighted clock hands.
In the gray of shorter days I still hear
the wheel crush on gravel where dirt road met destiny.
Comments
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"where agony
mossed the north side of dysfunction"