Forty-Three
Hybrid poem (for my mom)
Fireflies of flickering thought consume me
less and less
each day
bemused by their light
but finding sight
in the hidden cracks
of an old front porch
painted by many hands
over two centuries
The cobwebs woven enshrine this scene — there to capture the whispers of what I can’t say — carried on by three flittering white butterflies who seem to hover awhile — trailing off with a knowing I can only hope to glean — staring through these beveled panes of the many years of unbeknown dreams
While observing the thundering in my chest
caught up on the last breath
relieved to notice the very next
inhale and rest before its release…
So this is what it’s like to be forty-three
when one worry carries to the next beat and my heart so full of love that these tears may blur my eyesight but not the courage to breathe
Breathe & Be Still © 2022
