An evocative photo of my mother – also in the box, also kept by my father.
the places in our heart
where the world took bites
out of us
may never fully heal
and will likely become
wide open spaces
~ be careful to not fill them
with just anything or anyone
your wounds aren’t supposed
to become attics for you to hoard
unnecessary junk
these holes in our hearts
are holy sites
and we should treat
them as such
so when visiting your old wounds
make sure to take your shoes off
and turn off your cellphone
sit by candlelight
and watch how the shadows
tell the story how brave you are
~ to survive
(john roedel)
Questions forever unanswered.
When I look, I see a beautiful woman in her early 40’s looking out into the unknown.
Fuzzy, like her limited vision always was.
A limited edition,
She strains to see a future she will never know.
Through mists of time I look back at my father looking back at my mother.
Did any of us know? Do we ever?
No one survives; no one comes in knowing when they are going out.
Who tends the holy sites when we are gone?
Who knows when the veil is thin?
Who heals them in another generation?
When I look, I see a beautiful woman in her early 40’s looking out into the unknown.
Fuzzy, like her limited vision always was.
A limited edition,
She strains to see a future she will never know.
Through mists of time I look back at my father looking back at my mother.
Did any of us know? Do we ever?
No one survives; no one comes in knowing when they are going out.
Who tends the holy sites when we are gone?
Who knows when the veil is thin?
Who heals them in another generation?
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