Poet. Writer. Photographer.
I found a pile
of moments,
once treasure,
memories preserved
in sensitive limbo,
or waiting
in purgatory,
or for surgery,
or autopsy
to know, to have
final say-so…
Is it the light and shadows
that determine
if each, or collectively,
are worthy
to keep their sweet
olfactory hold
on our soul,
or simply the decision
of a heart to cradle
or let go…?
Sometimes you need
to let go
of both the past and present
to make room for
your future
waiting so patiently
to embrace you
if your heart
and arms
were not so
full
of nonliving yesterdays
and unfulfilling todays;
though they may haunt
and though they may sustain,
it is only your future
that can bring
what you can’t help but
need
and deserve.
Eventually,
the future, too,
moves on.
And before you know it,
you’ve achieved
survival
until you’re
g
o
n
e
.
Let your future
bring you
A colorful kite dream
flying
among the cumulous clouds
above the sea
in the endless turquoise
lifted her heart
from a buried
chest
and set it free
upon wings of hope and
joy,
but the wind died,
and no matter how she tried,
she could not
find favor with the weather.
The rains came;
the clouds turned gray.
She put her heart
back away
into the chest
with the kite,
recognizing that dream
without his wind
would never take to flight.
After she cried,
after much time,
she returned to the sea
and launched yet another new dream,
one in which the wind
came naturally from within,
independent of any
he.
Sometimes a destiny
can only come
from letting go
of what was
never meant to be,
however impossible at the time it was
to see.
She still dreams.
And believes.
With or without the wind.
For in every season,
despite the unknown reasons,
she held on
to faith
in Him
and realized
she could let go of the kite
for she had wings
and the Spirit
to lift her
anytime she liked.
I don’t know
if time heals as much
as it wears us thin,
loosens our grip
on the line,
not giving up hope,
but giving in
to the realization
that whatever was on the other end
is not coming back,
will never be able to be
reeled in,
and eventually,
we reach for the tail end
instead
with our other hand,
of the kite,
not knowing what
it looks like
hidden
in the white clouds,
but sensing that
up is universally better
than down,
and little by little
our cut and blistered fingers
relax on the line
that sinks under
and without realizing,
we let it slip
to reach with the other hand
for that kite string,
believing, hoping,
again
in what it might bring…
Laura Denise 