What impossible decisions I’ve made,
the weight of them,
The scars and time it’s taken to heal enough to breath forward.
Onto what I know not.
It wasn’t pulling weeds,
It wasn’t cutting fat.
These impossible determinations,
They’re a burning heart that makes ashes of fear
And hands that tear at brush in the thicker-yet forest of time
Feet careful over hidden mines- memories that could shatter me
Everything I put to sleep in my belly, waiting for softer skies
For gentler winds and growth- the green returned.
An aching of fertile land about, waiting.
For grief is what I tend like a garden.
In it everything can be repurposed
All can be renewed, so long as my hands are strong and the sun shines on me
So I pray, at least.
In my mind, on soft earth, I recognized the strength of doing what seemed impossible.
Though hurt existed. I dug in my nails,
The ground pulsed, ready.
I forgave myself.
On with the sweet bastard, Grief.
Vines and blossoms will grow around it in time.
I’ll dance around its image, a warrior dance,
The grief song celebrates possibility.