This for those who caught and cradled me, who held and braced me
Suffering my grappling fingers tugging at hair and whiskers
Jabbing at mouths and eyes, babbling in protest at unabashed nakedness
In part or in moment, you were the village
Hearing my yawps and yips trotting headfirst
Bear crawling with unwieldly limbs
You saw me through dangers I couldn't have known
You vouched for me before I proved anything
You cared for me not knowing what pain I might cause
What must you think of me now?
What dreams did I respire?
What harshness was instilled?
What kind of offering did I make?
Would I see you again, or would you leave this village?
Did I care then, do I care now what scent of you my brain remembers,
what voice is hidden in recessed folds?
I hope you were gentle then, and gentle still
I hope you were kind then, and kind still
Catching and holding life as we do now and then
For just moments
We can rock ourselves and comfort the pains
We are certain to catch and hold
About the Creator
S.L. Fischer
I hope that whatever and wherever these posts end up to be, someone finds them helpful or beautiful. I write because it heals. I write because through it, I am reminded that today there is still time to make life meaningful.
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Dead and Wearing Green
She was wearing that green dress when I first saw her, five years ago to the day. Flowing meadow fabric draped over long legs, thick auburn hair flowing down her back. That smile. Of course, she is still beautiful now. But now she is no longer alive.
By Karen Cave6 days ago in Fiction
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