Lift, Lift, Lift
She said that when you go, you come back as butterflies. Not just one, but hundreds. You become a hundred fragments of white with wings. And apparently you were there that day floating above her. You hovered over your sorrow place where she stood waiting and open. You hover bringing peace and freedom to the overwhelmed. You show us how delicate we are and we feel quiet. And there is a feeling of a soft push forward on the back of our minds. A soft push like the wind blowing a leaf off a tree. It's time for change. It is time to move forward you say.
Frightened. More time please. In fear will I grab the ropes, the roots? Let myself fall into myself; feel the weight of my decision? Hanging on moments, swinging thoughts. Lift, lift, lift my feet off this "solid ground". Close my eyes and leave and lift, lift, lift.
That day she punched the fence and she got smaller with every hit. Once...twice...three times, four times faster and then her middle collapsed and she dropped down to the ground holding the fence with two exhausted hands and her head dropped beneath her extended arms. She is angry and confused. "No, no, no" escapes between uneven breaths. And then her insides seep to the earth, through the soil, to the centre of everything. And those sore hands release from their grip on the wooden fence. There she is sitting on the grass and her tears are drowing her, she can't breathe. SOMEBODY HELP. She can't pull out anymore hair. And I can't lift her up because the weight of this is too heavy and it is burying her. I see weights in her arms and her sweaty hands make nests of salt in her hair. She can't look up. She is smaller than she's ever been-every muscle contracts with each sob and then finally they release and she lets me hug her. She lets me hold her as we both cry there. She lets me hold her on the side of that busy summer street.
Soft, smooth. She is feathered- spread across, apart. Balancing hope on divided wings. Calm in chaos. Lift lift lift the energy. Whisper courage through the sirens; hear it through the screams. Calm in chaos. Cover, surround, guard. She lifts, she lifts, she lifts and "it is the life in her". Lingering emotion...the dust of what was.
You are a visual of the space in-between. You are like dust in the sunlight; something left behind, so defeated, that turned into dancing sparkles that defy gravity. And you seem to lie on the sun rays as it shines through you. You are balanced and gently expanded through space. You are in our space, the space we share, and we notice you.
She said that when you go you come back as butterflies. Not just one, but hundreds. You become a hundred fragments of white with wings. It's time for change. It is time to move forward you say.
She said that when you go, you come back as butterflies. Not just one, but hundreds. You become a hundred fragments of white with wings. And apparently you were there that day floating above her. You hovered over your sorrow place where she stood waiting and open. You hover bringing peace and freedom to the overwhelmed. You show us how delicate we are and we feel quiet. And there is a feeling of a soft push forward on the back of our minds. A soft push like the wind blowing a leaf off a tree. It's time for change. It is time to move forward you say.
Frightened. More time please. In fear will I grab the ropes, the roots? Let myself fall into myself; feel the weight of my decision? Hanging on moments, swinging thoughts. Lift, lift, lift my feet off this "solid ground". Close my eyes and leave and lift, lift, lift.
That day she punched the fence and she got smaller with every hit. Once...twice...three times, four times faster and then her middle collapsed and she dropped down to the ground holding the fence with two exhausted hands and her head dropped beneath her extended arms. She is angry and confused. "No, no, no" escapes between uneven breaths. And then her insides seep to the earth, through the soil, to the centre of everything. And those sore hands release from their grip on the wooden fence. There she is sitting on the grass and her tears are drowing her, she can't breathe. SOMEBODY HELP. She can't pull out anymore hair. And I can't lift her up because the weight of this is too heavy and it is burying her. I see weights in her arms and her sweaty hands make nests of salt in her hair. She can't look up. She is smaller than she's ever been-every muscle contracts with each sob and then finally they release and she lets me hug her. She lets me hold her as we both cry there. She lets me hold her on the side of that busy summer street.
Soft, smooth. She is feathered- spread across, apart. Balancing hope on divided wings. Calm in chaos. Lift lift lift the energy. Whisper courage through the sirens; hear it through the screams. Calm in chaos. Cover, surround, guard. She lifts, she lifts, she lifts and "it is the life in her". Lingering emotion...the dust of what was.
You are a visual of the space in-between. You are like dust in the sunlight; something left behind, so defeated, that turned into dancing sparkles that defy gravity. And you seem to lie on the sun rays as it shines through you. You are balanced and gently expanded through space. You are in our space, the space we share, and we notice you.
She said that when you go you come back as butterflies. Not just one, but hundreds. You become a hundred fragments of white with wings. It's time for change. It is time to move forward you say.
posted by Jenna <3 at 9:59 AM
1 Comments:
What imagery in your writing. I love reading your words.
And I miss you.
Post a Comment
<< Home