". . .over every holy place of death
in your story."
This quote touches
a very tender place for me.
There have been deaths
in holy places in my story,
so excruciating I can no longer resurrect them,
leaving blank places where I long
to hold vivid, precious, memories.
"Serenade the dry, cracked pieces..."
My serenade is
the opposite of musical...
it's a circling around,
focusing my mind
on what shards of memory are there...
and peering through the haze
hoping my body will help
my mind recall the treasures
of when my girls were small.
The wonder of it is this...
the wild beauty exists
in their presence today...
and that's what matters most...
for which I’m infinitely grateful.
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