Tag Archive | strength

We Don’t Much Care for Broken

empty photo frame

(sadly, no picture here)

She sips from the lantana on my deck,

wings russet orange and black; I tiptoe

close and see one wing is shredded,

torn. I tuck my camera away; who wants to

focus on the brokenness of life? We don’t

much care for broken.

*

We like things whole and picture perfect.

Even healers shrug at times to tattered

lives, “Oh, merely chronic this or

chronic that.” Unable to repair, to mend,

they tuck their interest away. We don’t

much care for broken.

*

But broken wings still fly, and broken

bodies, broken souls, press on and whisper

courage; shine light that glimmers in the

shadows of their lives.

*

Forgive me, butterfly; forgive my shuttered

mind, my turning from your brokenness;

I turn again to sing the strength tucked

in your tattered wing; in mine as well;

perhaps together we can sip lantana joy;

together shelter from the wind and rain;

together shun the label “broken”; dance

instead to melodies of wholeness hovering

always just beyond our grasp.

Summer Leaves

006

Luscious leaves splash through my

window, soaking thirsty bones in

layered depths of sea-green calm;

I sip the leafy cool, savor on my

tongue a strange and earthy tang,

taste of wisdom hidden in those

jade green veins; wisdom learned,

perhaps, from tiny wrens that

shelter in their shade, from fairies,

maybe, or from ladybugs and bees that

mince across their face to tap out

secrets from their lives; wisdom

sipped from beads of rain and dewy

fingers of the night, from buried

roots that hymn the mysteries of

brevity and loss, but also murmur

courage that can laugh at scowls of noonday

sun, can dance in raging storms, can ever

sing a song of strength beyond, beneath,

above, the fragile rhythms of each day.