This poem was written in response to one of the weekend leader's meditation and writing exercises - it is also my entry in the poetry party over at Abbey of the Arts this week.
Stepping across the threshold I'm greeted by a light....
A rush of family history and story floods my senses
Seeing through a thin blue veil of mist
I believe the sun is out, though not of that in August
But that of a crisp December day
Earl, Marion, Anne, Joanne, Uncle Slats, Paul
Where have they come from and why
Such a strange gathering greeting me with loving faces, outstretched arms
My heart is stopped, still, like a stone
DANG! I'm dead, I must be dead
No, yes, no - my breath has stopped but I'm not dead at all
Stop, stop with the logic - hold these moments
My own thanksgiving and love for them covers me - akin to the mist of welcome
I'm very much alive and being embraced by the family of my youth
Realizing they've never left me - their love still supporting and blessing me
Stepping across the threshold I'm greeted by a light....
SS, such a gift to share these blessed days with you and so wonderful to read your beautiful words here now. And I love these words in your intro: "my ancestors felt unfamiliar to me upon arriving at the retreat and unforgettably enriching with my departure." Amen, dear sister.
ReplyDeletei adore this poem. it evokes both tears and laughter among other things. it was an honor to witness its birth! xoxoxoo
ReplyDeleteC and Lucy,
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading this post and for being there when it was "birthed." Sharing one's life is an amazing way to grieve, to love, to live.
xoxo