Tuesday, April 9, 2013


I just rolled over and with a startling thud

hit my head on a book.

That’s one way to wake up

a little more fun than some boring old alarm.

Lately I’ve been digging in

trying to understand the hurt.

To get to the core by scratching

at surfaces and letting them bleed.

Uncovering things that were hiding

underneath the words.

Subtle meaning shadowed

is now standing in the light.

Answering questions asked of me

by a voice that has no sound.

And asking questions back again

to ears that only hear.

It’s deep, intense and often hurts

there’s no shallow end in this pool.

Just places to keep treading water

in an effort to learn to swim.

Close to the end of the night, last night

everything got too real.

Too raw, too stark, too revealingly bright

the ugliness on display.

I ran to the garden and laid myself down

underneath a rose tree.

I breathed in and breathed in again and again

until the beauty of the scent was in me.

It’s hard just to lay back down again

with the feeling of being so alone.

So I asked Pooh and Piglet to take me back

to the Hundred Acre Wood.

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