Dreams fulfilled and abandoned, the wistful whimsical ones of fantasy-- Tears fallen, dried long ago, leaving salt crusts behind, and those never allowed to fall-- The skins of selves I used to be the wounded and scarred the shrunken down inside her skin the sacrificial to survival-- Take these things I freely give, adding all my wishes my dreams my hopes for you. Next, Add all you want, all you dream, all you desire, wish for and hope for in your life Then weave of them a chrysalis bout yourself to cushion and protect as you grow into your own skin. Leave your chains of fear, your yoke of worries with me. I will bury them deep inside my chest. When you emerge, your wings wet and beautiful, you may perch upon the branch of pride growing from my soul to flex and flutter your wings until dry enough to fly, beautiful as you have always been, never to shrink or curl away your wings again.
Tag: #children
Words for You
VJ’s Weekly Challenge #96: circling
Circle through the years of youth
Find the gems along the streams
Of your years, my love.
Collect them in a basket,
Keep them close.
When the time comes
Give each away to your
Young ones.
Make each a gift,
Tied with ribbons
Of what you dream
And all of your
Wishes
For them.
As I have given
All my words
As a gift
Tied with ribbons
Of my dream
Of love
And my wish
Of happiness
For you,
My love,
My gift,
My daughter.
The Blanket
A tiny explosion within the diagnosis:
Stage 3C ovarian cancer,
Blasts a hole in our family fabric.
Threads of surgeries and chemo
Stitch it shut.
A hard-knotted mess left.
We live without holes a few months.
New scans, blood tests.
Cancer slices a nice size gash,
fraying at the edges.
More chemo knits shut our fabric,
No longer perfect with knots, scarred seams,
But whole.
Six months,
A rending– bowel resection,
Rips– chemo for a bit,
You stopped, couldn’t do anymore.
The rips, the tears—too many
Too many damaged places to repair.
We learn to live with holes, rips
Fraying tears, worn places—
Until you are no longer there,
Until there is no us—but the child and me,
And no blanket left to cover
What was left of us.