You dry off your wings, settle back into the stillness,
breathe deeply the thick moist air.
Your shoulders loosen as you bathe
your feathers in soft morning light,
fill your lungs
with the bright scent of raindrops
evaporating off summer leaves.
Safe at last from the buffeting turmoil.
Your heart is quiet
for the first day in a basket of many.
Your sister’s death has forced a meeting
with your own mortality.
You feel the skeleton beneath your skin,
bones that rattle and hum a dry tune.
Though the scenery looks familiar,
your inner landscape is burnt and pale,
a mere shadow in the mirror.
You lost the person you once were.
You wait for life to pick you up again,
nudge you back into the flow of her slipstream.
On your lips, still moving, is the prayer
repeated over and over after her passing,
like a mantra.
Love, show me,
Show me the way
You feel the turning of season,
leaves changing too swiftly into saffron and scarlet.
Soul time cannot be hastened.
Love, show me the way …
You consider what it means to take over
as your own best friend …
a defiant youngster-sized-self saunters
into your head, takes a seat in the front row
with some business to settle.
She stomps her right foot down hard,
barks a few things she’ll tolerate no longer:
I’m done making-nice with your stuck-up friends!
I’m sick of giving our father a pass when he tramples my heart!
I’m through pretending I’m somebody I will never be!
She retires from the podium to take a nap.
You have some weeding to do …
You notice the little green shoots taking root in your garden.
Self-stewardship plumping like ripe tomatoes in the sun and
blossoms of self-fondness springing up faster than dandelions.
You clip a fresh rose and offer it to yourself in loving friendship …
your most devoted ally, confidante, companion, lover.
In your own fine company, you are never alone.