~ Dedicated, to all my sisters who died, never having the words to write even this much. And to all those who lived and created knowing the truth in a world that told them otherwise.
Sky gold merging into blue outside my windows
I’ve forgotten what beauty can be seen on early October mornings
In the New England sky,
What it feels like after
Having laid in bed for six days sick and feverish.
From this, this morning, I appreciate the things in life that are always there
But too often unacknowledged. And
I am remembering I’d forgotten
What I learned about forgetting.
For me, it’s not a lack of time that keeps me from creating my art
My art of shaping words into life.
It’s not material poverty, the
Sixty plus hour a week job, five children, husband, dying relative to care for,
It’s what was stolen a long time ago and never returned
What was thrown into a river
Weighed down by expensive American torture devices.
That part of me that was pulled screaming into a pile of human spirits
Suffocated, burned to ashes.
No it’s not just time that hold us back
That kills the most vital parts.
I have been surrounded by a block of stone,
Chiseled into a particular form
A seed buried under mounds of matter.
But I am remembering that
What was stolen can be recovered
What was beaten can be healed
What was captured can escape
And the spirit does not die easy
While seeds lie in wait.