Liberated Woman
She carries within her a tree of silence
born from seeds of pain sewn long ago.
Its roots are now thick as a man’s arm.
To tear them out would collapse her,
her body’s posture built on the scaffolding
of things as they should not have been.
So she walks as if retreating, leaning back
not in fear but at a slight angle where
the sun and dark have finally found rest.
this is one of my favorites of yours
If I could put that at the start of my novel, and maybe (((especially))) on my tombstone, I would.
What abbyleigh said and more but I am tongue tied, as I often am after I read your art, your words.
What Abby said and what Winn said, plus I very much like the way it haunts me even after reading it several times. A draping, lovely sort of resonance.
Roots of strength only grown through it all. . .. .”built on the scaffolding
of things as they should not have been.” Hmm life and no fear? Oh to be liberated; although I am on my way there, I have not yet arrived. The dark of life still can get me. The Son helps.
Uh Huh. Yes, yes she does.
killing me softly…