Life flows free in that place
where droplets glisten, where
mean-spirited clouds
released their rains.
Dampened pigmentation
will finger a part I cannot touch,
soaking deep to the very root, tenderly,
anointing a once-slavish soul.
After the surrender, life:
a gathering of broken pieces.
Stillness? Is that the home
from which I dare not wander?
Today—light, and the spattering
of a wet fern:
in that place I will bask,
though not yet fully yielded,
radiant, in the spring of
life’s possibility.
first published in Domicile, later in my chapbook Gathering the Broken Pieces available from FootHills Publishing
6 comments
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June 11, 2008 at 9:16 pm
writeathome
Very nice poem, Helen. I especially like the last two lines. It leaves you with a feeling of hopefulness.
June 11, 2008 at 9:26 pm
helenl
Thanks, Carol. That’s what I intended.
June 12, 2008 at 12:19 pm
Karen Hopper
Helen, your compassion comes forth in abundance. Sometimes all that’s left after a human conflict is broken pieces that must be gathered to start the process of Hope once again.
June 12, 2008 at 12:22 pm
helenl
Thank you, Karen.
June 12, 2008 at 2:09 pm
Shirley
Helen, you write beautiful poetry.
“Dampened pigmentation
will finger a part I cannot touch,”
These lines describe in a touching way the thought that only in brokenness, do we experience our full potential.
June 12, 2008 at 5:38 pm
helenl
Thank you, Shirley. Only in brokenness do we realize our need for healing and for wholeness.