You visit the grave of grief
You wear it like a badge,
like an open wound, oozing.
You do this mostly when you are
alone. Or walking high on God's mountains.
Your heart is locked, your lips,
pursed. You would share your secrets
with strangers. You have made me a stranger.
(Let's not go through life as strangers...)
I haven't decided quite how this feels,
but a bit of rancor has rooted
and I'd like to tear the weed of it out.
I understand how you have had to do without.
But you could have more, for...
We are related. But you keep
it distant. Miles and stubbornness
block the road.
Somewhere in the world I have a sister.
But she is not any sister I have known.
What are you afraid of?
There are no bad emotions.
Emotions simply exist.
I cannot make you comfortable.
There are no reassurances. Life is changeable.
You've had hard shocks, but life can, too, have bliss.
I can be here. I can listen. I can take your anger,
your sadness, your rage against circumstances, and even more than this
I care about you, and its not only based in
biology. I know.
We had the same Father.
We were meant to be sisters.
I have never had a real sister before.
Couldn't we try it on? See if it works? Please.
Leave the grave of grief long enough to come and visit me.
Copyright August 27, 2012 All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World