WATER
In a bowl, blown clean enough,
I am now contained.
Waiting for the stones,
Waiting to wash the worries and burdens
away from women who need miracles
who need support
who need to restore magic that feels like it has dried
and died
they each have a death wound that hurts to go near.
No one who loves escapes
It’s a black hole.
Their emotions crossed the event horizon, spaghettified for eternity.
But without visible change to the outside observer.
It gets better with time they lie.
It gets further away.
You learn to stop picking it at.
But it isn’t better because of time.
It hurts as much when the wind blows cinnamon,
The radio sings your favorite karaoke song,
Your birthday, your death day, and every third Tuesday or so.
They each have a life wound that hurts to go near
No one who loves escapes
It comes in the Shame Memories of those they’ve hurt.
It comes in the harsh words of someone they trust.
It comes in the not knowing the right path
Only knowing they must choose A path.
It comes from worrying about their children, their parents, the country and the earth.
It comes with breathing in and out.
They come with their burdens, their worries, their wounds.
They come because I call.
They rub the stones between their thumb and index.
Cup fossils in a nest one hand over the other like a ball
Press rocks between their palms trying to make diamonds
drop them, and plop them and slide them without a sound
Into
Me
Where
I
Read
Cleanse
Heal
Release
They support each other while they wait for my work to be done
They open their hearts
They share their lives
They discuss books, write poems, string prayers.
They respond to the Call to Action in their Hero’s Journey
The lover heals
The warrior can lay down arms
When the Universe hears the beacon, they have built
Magic is restored.
At first just a drop,
Enough to draw them back again.
And again
and again
Until an ocean of magic erupts in anticipation of their arrival.
The coven conjures miracles.
A river of support that flows in when needed and out again
And again
and again
that starts with a stone,
a willingness to lay down the burdens if only for an evening
and me contained in a bowl blown clean.
10-13 400 words, no edits
