I
who have often hid in the midst of noise
Laughter
Turning aside the more penetrating gaze
With a wall of clever words
I
Who thought the cocoon only produced butterflies
Turns out
Phoenix and dragons
Rise on wings of silence
from jagged tooth wombs
And the birth means annihilation
To the bearer
She died
I was born
And now I wear the scars that tore her asunder
But also the strength and wonder
Of a woman
Who had the courage
To plunge
Into a river that looked like life
And emerge
With her own drowned self cradled in her arms
A version so young
To young to understand
The greed and evil
That God made human
So she blamed herself
Instead
As we often do
And now we sit
This small girl and I
In a cathedral built
Of a thousand sighs
With stain-glass windows
And bombed out pews
We sit
And for the first time the small one feels peace
For the woman who couldn’t meet
Herself
On any plane
Has found the way
To love herself again
Cross outstretched ankles
In scuffed leather boots
And settle down
Nestle in sideways
If it feels more comfortable to move
But never cease the relentless search
For the one within who never had
You
When she needed you the most
So she grew you like a tree
From the ground up
Enfolded in branches she sees
Her entire life spread out
And sunshine brightens the green shoots
New life
Peaking through
The younger you
Should always be just a hands stretch away
Never leave her behind again
Instead
Love her deeply

This strikes me as a very personal and complex cyclic poem that doesn’t just recover but sanctifies.
Powerful, authentic and well written, Kate.
Thanks for sharing.
Be well and do good.
DD
Hi DD, a bit of a heart war song that bubbled up awhile ago. I like to leave the deeper ones compost for a while, until they are ready to let go, glad you liked it. I’m very well and doing good where I am able – I hope it is the same for you
Yes, some compositions needs time to compost..
~
I do my idea of what’s a bit of good – most of the time.
~
Glad you’re doing well.
Cheers,
DD