Old GrowthWe say we stand on the shoulders of giants, then we dig about and find yet another one fallen, shoulders a poor perch when six feet below the crumbling ground.
I remember hiding my face when i heard my mom cheering from the stands, then I remember my daughter rolling her eyes when she heard her dad cheering from the stands.
A, you brought me fully into the "ache and beauty" of your echoing of your mom, and as your poems so often do, made me think of my own life & relationships. I love "in the webbed skin of our hands, / the same capacity for tenderness, / the same capacity for anger" -- wow, there is a whole world here! And so much wisdom in "I think neither of us wanted / to be like our mothers / and both of us fear / our daughters feeling the same."
I love the way you've attended to both the physical body and the emotional body (and the spirit, I feel) in noticing the echoes. It's been my experience that, like it or not, and gender transition aside, I see echoes of both my parents in my face, my body, and my emotional responses. So relatable.
Yes! It's so interesting to me, how we end up just like our parents in some ways, often despite our best efforts. But also, it has helped humanize my parents for me as well, helped me to appreciate the ways they have loved me well, and forgive them for the ways they have harmed me.
I've heard it said that we either become our parents, marry them, or both....and in my case, it has been both! It's wonderful that you have been able to see all the dimensions of your parents and to make enough space for appreciation and forgiveness. I have been working on that myself (very much a work in perpetual progress, a non-linear work, at that).
There's definitely still hurt there as well, but it's easier now for me to understand that they're doing their best, even when what I need is something different or more than they're able to give (100% a non-linear perpetual work in progress)
This is amazing A.! Loved the various feelings that mothers feel, that daughters come to experience as well after becoming a mother themselves. I lean into answering yes to the question at the end, tis my experience.
This is remarkably beauitful, A. The tenderness and wisdom of your poem as you grapple with that timeless notion of not being like our parents, and at some point coming to realize that we, are, in part. Every line is splendid, and I really love these:
Wow Lisa, what a great picture to go along with your beautiful poem. I did read your poem first, and I was imaging trees growing out of trees. You took me right there before I even saw your picture!
So a poem using common proverbs... Well here is mine.
What a lovely poem! Full of wisdom and power, and bringing hope to chaos and uncertainty. This verse is a poem all by itself:
"If all good things must come to an end
then all challenges must do as well.
How many times in the bible did it say,
“…and it came to pass…”
Never was it stated, “it came to stay.”
Impermanence is the DNA of life.
A code written into our existence,
declaring, all that is created must
at some point come to perish."
What a brilliant insight! I love how your poems invite us into thin places, along on a journey full of surpises and enlightenment, joy and kindness. Your poems are a blessing to read!
Julie, this is gorgeous. I love so much about it, but especially "A configuration that will never be known or felt quite the same way again! So, attend to this exquisite point in time."
What a beautiful, poetic validation this is of life on earth. I loved many of your turns of phrase, especially "trying to make it a straight line of cast iron certainty," messy feral dishevelment," "wild fecundity," and "this exquisite point in time." Attending to this exquisite point of time definitely needs to be a bumper sticker, Julie.
What a beautiful celebration of impermanence! "Life is not meant to be clutched into" -- yes! I soooo agree with Keith that "attending to this exquisite point in time" would make an excellent bumper sticker. Maybe we need to have this specially made for our 100 Poems community. I don't have a single bumper sticker on my car at present, but that is one that I would slap on in a heartbeat.
Scathing sarcasm is so well wrought throughout your poem, Rebekah. What truly insane value propositions (and what cruel calculus) our history is shot through with (and still informs way too much policy). And, you've included some really incredible turns of phrase here..."the rubbled shores that crash into view between channels;" "the exchange is fixed to give us more shedding power;" and "when these wells of will stop blowing out." Thanks for shining the poetic light of scrutiny on the bypass implied by this proverb.
When does equality actually mean equality? Yes the bypass of it's all fixed now, we've taken care of business, we've learned our lesson. No they just took the necessary medicine as minimally as possible. Rebekah, I loved this poem. It worked, you got me going on this...Again the bypass of claiming an ending that is not ending at all, just reframed and dressed up dysfunction, bigotry and discrimination.
This is a powerful poem, Rebekah. As we celebrate Black History Month your poem is a bracing reminder of the movement towards wholeness that has occurred in the shadow of so much distance yet to go. Your poem also raised for me that proverb “ the end justifies the means,” a cruel principle that has helped to usher in many unspeakable horrors. Thank you for writing such an honest and true poem.
"a stray bug, hoping to share its gift, begs to be steered." This line really got me, then got me more when it was followed by kindness delivered in an entirely different way with the Candyland victory. Two totally different scenarios, same big heart noticing a need for kindness and care.
Same as Keith, I love "a stray bug, hoping to share its gift, / begs to be steered." I am delighted by the thought of a bug who has a gift it wants to share with the world, and of a God who steers bugs away from windshields at the last minute. Shit doesn't always happen!
Chuck, this is quite creative. I love your contrast and use of the bugs on our windshields and the wonderful image of steering a grandchild’s victory in Candy-land..
I have such vivid memories of playing candyland with my sister as a kid. The card that brought you right to the end happened to be have been folded in half, so I always knew when it was coming, and while I definitely orchestrated *my own* victories as well, I remember letting her win sometimes, when she needed it.
I've been sitting with the depth and breadth of the roots and canopy of your poem, Lisa. As your poems often do, this one has stuck with me, and got me to thinking deeply about letting fallen hearos turn to loam and the rich growth of rot. You inspired me to write this one about absence:
This is one of those poems that is beautiful the whole way through -- and then sticks a landing that is completely next-level. I also love the play with absence/presence, "earth's uneasy bosom," the geologic theme that pairs so well with the protracted timeframe of the story, and your own raw honesty in telling it. Well done, Keith.
Thank you, Rebekah, I love your insight about the geologic metaphor reflecting the protracted timeframe of the underlying story. I didn't do that consciously (thank you, creative force bigger than me), but that's such a perceptive catch! I really appreciate these reflections.
Powerful piece here Keith! A poignant unearthing of what absence can bring. Loved the ending, where it took you, "Just stillness. A sturdy core, Deep in the terra firma of self."
Keith, this metaphor is so rich and meaningful. "It took decades for me / to erupt violently under pressure / building in the unsupportive ground / from which I sprang, the hostile ground / to which I clung" and "In the finality of your absence / my heart has come to find / not fondness / Just stillness. / A sturdy core, / Deep in the terra firma / of self." There's so much here about hurt and healing. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, A. Thank you for naming the hurting and healing...yes, it is exactly that, an expression of hurting and healing I've done and continue to do.
This is so powerful, Keith. I can feel the pain., sadness, fire and hurt in your words. I love the use of the proverb "abscence makes the heart grow fonder..." I admittedly never quite understood that as a universal claim, as I have seen how absence can bring healing, restoration and new life. I also love the volcano imagery and how you so artfully use it as a metaphor for your own eruption into anger. You are a splendid writer and I appreciate the depth of your talent and gifts.
Thank you so much, Larry - I deeply appreciate your kind feedback. Lisa's prompt has me thinking more deeply about many of these familiar proverbs and how narrow (or even nonsensical) they really are!
I hear that Keith! I clicked on the link in her prompt and enjoyed learning about these familiar sayings. I had written a poem using the term “ thoughts and prayers” but it doesn’t quite work yet.
Oooh, yes...that's another oft-used phrase that comes off as rote more often than not. I'm also thinking of "love and light." Good luck with your poem, I hope I get to read it one day!
Goodness, I started with a completely different refrain and proverb, and somehow this arrived. Being completely honest, I am not sure about it at all, but I'll leave it here on the night table.
Ooooh, this is good, Larry. You start with honesty being a policy we can agree on, something principled people choose while "outside the world is burning" with lies and the fallout from lies. But then we enter that world, face off with -- and possibly even become -- the politician, the fraudster, or simply the person eager to close the door on the past. The ending is chilling -- the wise ones deliver the proverb one last time before "they turn and walk away / into the lies of a brand new day." I'm glad you left the silver lining off of this one -- there's so much power here!
Larry, I really feel the pain of the gap that exists between aspiration and reality as I read this. And the complexity of what "honesty" really means, and how it can be manipulated into a weapon of mass destruction, really. Blunt force honesty, selective honesty, partial honesty, self-centered honesty. And to complicate it even more, can any of us even agree on what is true? Wow. I also loved how you wove so many fiery images throughout - so apropos to your subject.
Thank you Keith. I have been in so many situations and settings where people claimed to be brutally honest, and the emphasis always seemed to be on the brutal more than the honest. Thank you for always reading with such care and insight.
Agree with A. there is a different tone here compared to what you usually share. I like it ! The honesty of seeing what is really here. Not trying to make it pretty. Seeing where lies have become the new norm. Where lying about lying becomes some distorted truth. Yes it does seem like honesty is from a time gone by..."Honesty is the best policy, Or it was, in some mythical life lights years ago. Or in a fable my mother read at my bedside; Or in a dream I had where all lived in harmony."
Thank you Julie. There is a lovely song by Jim Weatherly written in the 1970’s called “ To a gentler time.” I am not sure when that might have been, but it is nice to imagine.
The tone of this feels different than your usual, but I like it. I love "midnight cookie thief with crumbs on the floor; fire breathing congressperson mixing rage into truth" and the whole stanza following. I normally love your poems for their hopefulness, but I appreciate that this one didn't look for a silver lining - there is honesty in that, after all.
Thank you A. I too often can manufacture a silver lining where there is none, so I am thankful I did not succumb to that here. The hope I gave is often found in the wisdom of people like, the poets sharing here, the honest ones.
Like mother, like daughter
I never felt much
like my mother
until I became one.
Now somewhere
past the softening of our jowls, I see
the same adoring smiles
as we look at our children,
the same tension
as we bite our tongues;
beneath the creases of our throats
the same echoed declarations of love,
the same echoed shouts of desperation;
in the webbed skin of our hands,
the same capacity for tenderness,
the same capacity for anger.
I think neither of us wanted
to be like our mothers
and both of us fear
our daughters feeling the same.
I wonder if it will take becoming
a mother for my daughter to see
the ache and beauty
in our sameness.
Beautiful. But especially “beneath the creases of our throats the same echoed declarations of love, the same echoed shouts of desperation.”
Thank you! I had to fiddle with the wording a bit to make it feel right, but that part felt important.
I remember hiding my face when i heard my mom cheering from the stands, then I remember my daughter rolling her eyes when she heard her dad cheering from the stands.
The flashbacks brought a giggle. Thanks.
A, you brought me fully into the "ache and beauty" of your echoing of your mom, and as your poems so often do, made me think of my own life & relationships. I love "in the webbed skin of our hands, / the same capacity for tenderness, / the same capacity for anger" -- wow, there is a whole world here! And so much wisdom in "I think neither of us wanted / to be like our mothers / and both of us fear / our daughters feeling the same."
Thank you, Rebekah!
I love the way you've attended to both the physical body and the emotional body (and the spirit, I feel) in noticing the echoes. It's been my experience that, like it or not, and gender transition aside, I see echoes of both my parents in my face, my body, and my emotional responses. So relatable.
Yes! It's so interesting to me, how we end up just like our parents in some ways, often despite our best efforts. But also, it has helped humanize my parents for me as well, helped me to appreciate the ways they have loved me well, and forgive them for the ways they have harmed me.
I've heard it said that we either become our parents, marry them, or both....and in my case, it has been both! It's wonderful that you have been able to see all the dimensions of your parents and to make enough space for appreciation and forgiveness. I have been working on that myself (very much a work in perpetual progress, a non-linear work, at that).
There's definitely still hurt there as well, but it's easier now for me to understand that they're doing their best, even when what I need is something different or more than they're able to give (100% a non-linear perpetual work in progress)
This is amazing A.! Loved the various feelings that mothers feel, that daughters come to experience as well after becoming a mother themselves. I lean into answering yes to the question at the end, tis my experience.
Thank you, Julie!
This is remarkably beauitful, A. The tenderness and wisdom of your poem as you grapple with that timeless notion of not being like our parents, and at some point coming to realize that we, are, in part. Every line is splendid, and I really love these:
"beneath the creases of our throats
the same echoed declarations of love,
the same echoed shouts of desperation;
in the webbed skin of our hands,
the same capacity for tenderness,
the same capacity for anger."
And the end is magnificient!
"I think neither of us wanted
to be like our mothers
and both of us fear
our daughters feeling the same.
I wonder if it will take becoming
a mother for my daughter to see
the ache and beauty
in our sameness."
What a gift for your mother, daughter and you!
Thank you, Larry.
Wow Lisa, what a great picture to go along with your beautiful poem. I did read your poem first, and I was imaging trees growing out of trees. You took me right there before I even saw your picture!
So a poem using common proverbs... Well here is mine.
.
If all good things must come to an end
then all challenges must do as well.
How many times in the bible did it say,
“…and it came to pass…”
Never was it stated, “it came to stay.”
Impermanence is the DNA of life.
A code written into our existence,
declaring, all that is created must
at some point come to perish.
.
Life is not meant to be clutched onto
as much as I may endeavor.
Trying to make it a straight line,
of cast iron certainty.
No, even in life’s organized unfurling,
is this messy feral dishevelment.
A beautiful chaos,
a wild fecundity.
a holy and sacred impermanence.
.
I see it everywhere…
Seasons that continually cycle.
Growing, maturing and strengthening.
Only to weaken, wither and fade.
Day becomes night, night becomes day.
Reminding me each moment is precious.
A configuration that will never be known,
or felt quite the same way again!
So, attend to this exquisite point in time.
Let it enrapture and bewitch me,
this impermanent incarnate life!
What a lovely poem! Full of wisdom and power, and bringing hope to chaos and uncertainty. This verse is a poem all by itself:
"If all good things must come to an end
then all challenges must do as well.
How many times in the bible did it say,
“…and it came to pass…”
Never was it stated, “it came to stay.”
Impermanence is the DNA of life.
A code written into our existence,
declaring, all that is created must
at some point come to perish."
What a brilliant insight! I love how your poems invite us into thin places, along on a journey full of surpises and enlightenment, joy and kindness. Your poems are a blessing to read!
Thanks Larry, I always appreciate your insights.
Julie, this is gorgeous. I love so much about it, but especially "A configuration that will never be known or felt quite the same way again! So, attend to this exquisite point in time."
Thanks A!
What a beautiful, poetic validation this is of life on earth. I loved many of your turns of phrase, especially "trying to make it a straight line of cast iron certainty," messy feral dishevelment," "wild fecundity," and "this exquisite point in time." Attending to this exquisite point of time definitely needs to be a bumper sticker, Julie.
What a beautiful celebration of impermanence! "Life is not meant to be clutched into" -- yes! I soooo agree with Keith that "attending to this exquisite point in time" would make an excellent bumper sticker. Maybe we need to have this specially made for our 100 Poems community. I don't have a single bumper sticker on my car at present, but that is one that I would slap on in a heartbeat.
this messy feral dishevelment
🙂
nice words.
All’s well that ends well;
for example, Flandreau Indian School,
established in 1875, now boasts
non-compulsory enrollment
and a “culturally resonant” curriculum
including, but not limited to,
its Native Spirituality Program.
Also, Black American households
now have one-eighth the net worth
of their white counterparts,
which is more than zero,
and nobody technically constitutes
anyone else’s currency,
not anymore.
.
Back pats for that, and a frame
to fit around the rubbled shores
that crash into view
between channels. We don’t need
to feel complicit because
not all blood costs the same.
A cup here is a gallon and a half there,
and the exchange is fixed to give us
more shedding power
everyday. Once lessons
are learned, instruction may
cease, or at least become
less lethal.
.
Someday, when these wells of will
stop blowing out,
when the offending party settles,
they may be given
a place in the curriculum
or an entire
eighth of a life.
Scathing sarcasm is so well wrought throughout your poem, Rebekah. What truly insane value propositions (and what cruel calculus) our history is shot through with (and still informs way too much policy). And, you've included some really incredible turns of phrase here..."the rubbled shores that crash into view between channels;" "the exchange is fixed to give us more shedding power;" and "when these wells of will stop blowing out." Thanks for shining the poetic light of scrutiny on the bypass implied by this proverb.
When does equality actually mean equality? Yes the bypass of it's all fixed now, we've taken care of business, we've learned our lesson. No they just took the necessary medicine as minimally as possible. Rebekah, I loved this poem. It worked, you got me going on this...Again the bypass of claiming an ending that is not ending at all, just reframed and dressed up dysfunction, bigotry and discrimination.
This is a powerful poem, Rebekah. As we celebrate Black History Month your poem is a bracing reminder of the movement towards wholeness that has occurred in the shadow of so much distance yet to go. Your poem also raised for me that proverb “ the end justifies the means,” a cruel principle that has helped to usher in many unspeakable horrors. Thank you for writing such an honest and true poem.
This poem really highlights what an unspeakable insult it is to laud such tiny steps forward as huge victories and to pretend everything is fine now.
Like an 8 mile race where the leader is 7 miles in front of you.
(maybe a "participation/good sport" medal.)
(thanks for stirring my stew.)
splattttttt.
Aimless, fluky twists of fate,
the random roles of those
pesky bugs and windshields.
Shoulders shrug,
eyebrows go up.
shit just happens. move on.
but every so often,
a stray bug, hoping to share its gift,
begs to be steered.
Like orchestrating a grandkid's candyland victory.
sparkle.
no splat.
"a stray bug, hoping to share its gift, begs to be steered." This line really got me, then got me more when it was followed by kindness delivered in an entirely different way with the Candyland victory. Two totally different scenarios, same big heart noticing a need for kindness and care.
Same as Keith, I love "a stray bug, hoping to share its gift, / begs to be steered." I am delighted by the thought of a bug who has a gift it wants to share with the world, and of a God who steers bugs away from windshields at the last minute. Shit doesn't always happen!
Chuck, this is quite creative. I love your contrast and use of the bugs on our windshields and the wonderful image of steering a grandchild’s victory in Candy-land..
I have such vivid memories of playing candyland with my sister as a kid. The card that brought you right to the end happened to be have been folded in half, so I always knew when it was coming, and while I definitely orchestrated *my own* victories as well, I remember letting her win sometimes, when she needed it.
I've been sitting with the depth and breadth of the roots and canopy of your poem, Lisa. As your poems often do, this one has stuck with me, and got me to thinking deeply about letting fallen hearos turn to loam and the rich growth of rot. You inspired me to write this one about absence:
If a heart truly grows
fonder through absence,
what does that say
about the way
in which
mine cooled
In the absence of your presence?
Hardened in the presence
of your absence?
Magma under pressure
spews as lava from
earth’s uneasy bosom
then hardens into rock.
It took decades for me
to erupt violently under pressure
building in the unsupportive ground
from which I sprang, the hostile ground
to which I clung.
And only decades after that
do I begin to feel anything
other than numb.
In the finality of your absence
my heart has come to find
not fondness,
Just stillness.
A sturdy core,
Deep in the terra firma
of self.
This is one of those poems that is beautiful the whole way through -- and then sticks a landing that is completely next-level. I also love the play with absence/presence, "earth's uneasy bosom," the geologic theme that pairs so well with the protracted timeframe of the story, and your own raw honesty in telling it. Well done, Keith.
Thank you, Rebekah, I love your insight about the geologic metaphor reflecting the protracted timeframe of the underlying story. I didn't do that consciously (thank you, creative force bigger than me), but that's such a perceptive catch! I really appreciate these reflections.
Powerful piece here Keith! A poignant unearthing of what absence can bring. Loved the ending, where it took you, "Just stillness. A sturdy core, Deep in the terra firma of self."
Thank you, Julie. A "poignant unearthing" - thanks for playing with my earth metaphor with me :)
Keith, this metaphor is so rich and meaningful. "It took decades for me / to erupt violently under pressure / building in the unsupportive ground / from which I sprang, the hostile ground / to which I clung" and "In the finality of your absence / my heart has come to find / not fondness / Just stillness. / A sturdy core, / Deep in the terra firma / of self." There's so much here about hurt and healing. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, A. Thank you for naming the hurting and healing...yes, it is exactly that, an expression of hurting and healing I've done and continue to do.
diamonds keep drifting thru my head
I love this visual, thanks for telling me :)
This is so powerful, Keith. I can feel the pain., sadness, fire and hurt in your words. I love the use of the proverb "abscence makes the heart grow fonder..." I admittedly never quite understood that as a universal claim, as I have seen how absence can bring healing, restoration and new life. I also love the volcano imagery and how you so artfully use it as a metaphor for your own eruption into anger. You are a splendid writer and I appreciate the depth of your talent and gifts.
Thank you so much, Larry - I deeply appreciate your kind feedback. Lisa's prompt has me thinking more deeply about many of these familiar proverbs and how narrow (or even nonsensical) they really are!
I hear that Keith! I clicked on the link in her prompt and enjoyed learning about these familiar sayings. I had written a poem using the term “ thoughts and prayers” but it doesn’t quite work yet.
Oooh, yes...that's another oft-used phrase that comes off as rote more often than not. I'm also thinking of "love and light." Good luck with your poem, I hope I get to read it one day!
Oh for sure! I use @love and light” a lot! I’ll be thinking about what I mean by that and being more intentional when I do use it.
Goodness, I started with a completely different refrain and proverb, and somehow this arrived. Being completely honest, I am not sure about it at all, but I'll leave it here on the night table.
Honesty is the Best Policy,
I hear them say.
Teachers, rabbis, pastors, parents, coaches, bosses,
influencers, prophets, imams, scribes, sages, elders…
On this we surely can all agree,
honesty is the best policy.
Outside the world is burning.
Bold faced lies and constructed realities;
Alternative facts and disordered edicts;
Opinion framed as fact and truth.
Conspiracy theories and tales of lizards,
pizza shops, alien invasions and reluctant messiahs.
Honesty is the best policy.
Except when it isn’t.
Except when it means you lose:
Money, an election, friends, status, prestige…
Or you are faced with a room full of marks,
taken in by lies and the fires stoked by the dis-honesty.
Honesty is the best policy,
except when you get caught;
Midnight cookie thief with crumbs on the floor;
Fire breathing congressperson mixing rage into truth.
Honesty is the best policy,
Or it was, in some mythical life lights years ago.
Or in a fable my mother read at my bedside;
Or in a dream I had where all lived in harmony.
Advice freely given to a friend,
as I close the closet door
on the lies I left behind.
Honesty is the best policy,
I hear them say,
as they turn and walk away
into the lies of a brand new day.
Ooooh, this is good, Larry. You start with honesty being a policy we can agree on, something principled people choose while "outside the world is burning" with lies and the fallout from lies. But then we enter that world, face off with -- and possibly even become -- the politician, the fraudster, or simply the person eager to close the door on the past. The ending is chilling -- the wise ones deliver the proverb one last time before "they turn and walk away / into the lies of a brand new day." I'm glad you left the silver lining off of this one -- there's so much power here!
Thank you Rebekah, for reading and your remarkable kindness.
Larry, I really feel the pain of the gap that exists between aspiration and reality as I read this. And the complexity of what "honesty" really means, and how it can be manipulated into a weapon of mass destruction, really. Blunt force honesty, selective honesty, partial honesty, self-centered honesty. And to complicate it even more, can any of us even agree on what is true? Wow. I also loved how you wove so many fiery images throughout - so apropos to your subject.
Thank you Keith. I have been in so many situations and settings where people claimed to be brutally honest, and the emphasis always seemed to be on the brutal more than the honest. Thank you for always reading with such care and insight.
Agree with A. there is a different tone here compared to what you usually share. I like it ! The honesty of seeing what is really here. Not trying to make it pretty. Seeing where lies have become the new norm. Where lying about lying becomes some distorted truth. Yes it does seem like honesty is from a time gone by..."Honesty is the best policy, Or it was, in some mythical life lights years ago. Or in a fable my mother read at my bedside; Or in a dream I had where all lived in harmony."
Thank you Julie. There is a lovely song by Jim Weatherly written in the 1970’s called “ To a gentler time.” I am not sure when that might have been, but it is nice to imagine.
.......except when it isn't......
honest words.
pow.
The tone of this feels different than your usual, but I like it. I love "midnight cookie thief with crumbs on the floor; fire breathing congressperson mixing rage into truth" and the whole stanza following. I normally love your poems for their hopefulness, but I appreciate that this one didn't look for a silver lining - there is honesty in that, after all.
Thank you A. I too often can manufacture a silver lining where there is none, so I am thankful I did not succumb to that here. The hope I gave is often found in the wisdom of people like, the poets sharing here, the honest ones.
I love that picture, new & alive from old & dead
They say laughter is the best medicine.
And to that I pragmatically say
Medicine is the best medicine.
And laughter is delegated to that
Theoretical after.
After the illness.
After the surgery.
After the crises have passed.
Then we can laugh again.
Then we can smile.
But if in the presence of the present
There arises a chance
To find comfort in the chaos.
Or smile through the strain.
Then we should grab onto that moment
And that let that dose of joy
Facilitate the healing
Of body and soul.
Karri Temple Brackett
February 6, 2024
Lisa, I love your poem and picture. The last two stanzas feel so powerful. What might we grow?
Lisa, this is sweet! You did take us there with your exquisite words! You did not take us by the hand, but by the mind and heart! ❤️