The sun explodes and the grass crackles and I don’t
know how much longer this can go on.
I walk among the flowers, the ones that I planted
during the eternally long spring
when all was melting and swelling and hopeful,
and I feel a
quickening.
A hint of desperateness begins to pulse within my
veins and the image of a desert child falls into my lap. The child, whose clothes drape and fall
across lines of bone and sinew, is quiet.
But her eyes speak, deep wells of color calling to the
same.
Her crumpled shoulders bear the weight of a hundred
summer suns
And, heavier still, the burden of unrequited hope.
I finger the leaves of the morning glory, the one that
trumpets blue and purple hallelujahs at dawn
And the heart shaped foliage recoils at my touch, the
weight of my hand oppressive.
No living thing seems able to regain its right posture
once I pass by.
How can one be like That tree?
The one by the stream.
The one that prospers.
The one that lives.
I look at the garden my husband planted.
There are mounds of compost and manure encircling
every plant, every root
and I marvel that this dirt, composed of things that
are dying, is the bridge to what lives.
If that is so, that in the dying, there is life
What do I do with that desert child?
What must die so that she can live?
If the weight of my hand is oppressive and things
crackle under my feet, then
We are doomed.
I sink to my knees, pawing at the ground.
Surely there is water somewhere deep.
Linking up with Emily
I'm not sure how exactly you do this, but I am completely drawn in with the first sentence.
ReplyDeleteYour writing leaves me breathless.
Eyvonne,
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad that we found each other, aren't you? Grateful for your words...always
this is so lovely. So happy to find you through Emily's place. Your words paint a picture of drought and hope all at the same time.
ReplyDeleteShelly,
DeleteSo glad you found me, too!
Your words are so sad at first. Then there's a little hope. But all the time sadness surrounds you. And I want to gather that child in my arms and help her live. You can make me see pictures with your words. Thank you again Holly. And again, I'm so glad that we are cousins.
ReplyDeleteThis is timely for me. This line will stick with me through my dreams tonight:
ReplyDelete"I marvel that this dirt, composed of things that are dying, is the bridge to what lives."
This piece broke my heart and bowed me low and gave me hope all at the same time. Thank you for your words.
there is water there...and it is a great truth that life is found in death...and sometimes things must die to make the way...but there is water there...
ReplyDeleteHer crumpled shoulders bear the weight of a hundred summer suns
ReplyDeleteAnd, heavier still, the burden of unrequited hope.
oh, holly. this is breathtaking. and yes, dirt being the bridge... this, i think, is the secret to humility, to realizing we are nothing more than what God makes of us. bless you. and may you find that water... (i'm seeking it, too)