Fireworks told me
it was a new year.
I didn’t stay up to watch,
to welcome, to light sparklers
to pretend I had written resolutions.
From my bed I watched
flashes through the bedroom curtain,
heard explosions, and wondered
how much debris the sun would expose.
I did talk to Mother God, yes Mother God.
We’d spent a lot of time together the last
few months as I nursed battle wounds,
and collected new scars.
She never mentioned hell or asked me
to confess sins…She listened and held my hand
when the edge was as close as a footstep.
Through the smoke of all the matches
and mini explosions assaulting the night
in frantic wishes a year could really arrive
unmolested by the old, I heard Mother God
whisper, “Optimism has always been the garden
you’ve replanted when agony uprooted the roses.”
Comments
you’ve replanted when agony uprooted the roses.”
That is a powerful bit of truth. It seems resilience is the secret to survival.
you’ve replanted when agony uprooted the roses.”....The lines give me so much strength that I can't describe. The only way to survive and live. Beautiful, Susie.
unmolested by the old . . ."
This is my new favorite of all your poems, Susie, it's so unified between the covers frantically wishing, and then reaching for the Mother God's hand, the one who reminds us who we are.