Saturday, October 11, 2014

Thorns



Thorns

        in the thorns and brambles
        I found her
        wings, both tangled, bound and lifeless
        fragile as rice paper in the rain
        I spoke to her with words she's never heard
        I touched her with fingers she'd never felt
        and her eyes, like honey in a clouded glass
        saw nothing
        but reminders of a privilege passed
        of a falling without grace
        she mocked her own betrayal
        she chewed with ravenous hunger
        the bitter herbs she had so blindly gathered
        she wept at the loss of something never
        cherished
        'til now . . .
        she wept for the stars now beyond reach
        the moon so distant and cold
        heaven's door closed to one's own daughter
        she wept until there was only emptiness
        in her heart
        and then she turned to me without fear
        without begging
        and thought she knew me
        for some other purpose
        and ending perhaps--
        with the knife I played my part
        in her lifelong drama
        now forever a part of mine
        as her screams cut me as deep
        I too remembered
        holding the severed remnants:
        the beauty of their texture, the lightness
        of their structure
        the simplicity of their purpose
        the miracle
        and I remembered as well
        the sadness of such memories
        I held her gently, feeling the darkness
        flow from her wounds with each heartbeat
        and her hands crept around me
        lingered
        on my own scars
        caressing
        dancing
        desperately trying to believe

        that she was not alone