Breach — A Poem

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“Breached Heart” — C.Birde, 6/19

 

Breached.

Those walls

built once-upon-a-time

and long ago

no longer serve.

The heart contained

within, regardless,

broke and breaks

anew each

day.

Let them fall –

bulwarks overcome,

outgrown,

torn down stone

by stone.

The tides of heartache

ebb and flow;

their patterns,

unpredictable.

Collect

the heart’s remains;

that prize,

once-hoarded.

Pluck

each broken piece

up from tumbled shadow;

jewel-like fragments –

brightly polished –

extravagantly

exposed.

 

— C.Birde, 6/19

 

 

Quickening — A Poem

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“Quickening” — C.Birde, 3/19

 

Long awaited.

Realized,

recognized

– at last –

in quickening

earth

(beat & breath of loamy

heart),

resurgent

song

(trill & tremor in airborne

throats),

in bud and flower

and greening

leaf

(stretch & shift toward expanding

light).

Spring arrives

– gift-wrapped –

on our

doorsteps.

Compose your

thank-yous accordingly.

Address them

to each

blushing hour,

each mischief curl

of breeze.

— C.Birde, 3/19

 

 

 

Confession — A Truth

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“Empty” — C.Birde, 3/19

 

Inward turning…my personal weather, a stillness, a vacuum…the “doldrums” (nautical term, describing an equatorial region of the Atlantic Ocean, marked by still air, sudden storms,  unpredictable winds). I prefer the earth beneath my feet, certainty… Adrift, all the same… The sensation manifests — in a shortness of breath, a faint lack of oxygen; as a heaviness in my gut. I am not unhappy, no. Unfocused, yes; “at sea”, so it seems. A pattern. Free of resistance, denial, struggle, I sit in its company, as if with someone I’ve known. Too long. A lifetime. We occupy shared space, absent of dialogue. Lonely, but comfortable. And then — interruption. Gwynnie leaps into my lap (open invitation to any cat). Her purr, a revelation. Her hard little head (thrust against my chin) confirmation of here, now. Physical reminder, in all her warm, fuzzy critterness — slack sails will fill and stir; the compass, reorient… Spring, too, will leap unexpectedly. (As a cat.) Woodland trails will call…chipmunks, uncurl from  nests…birdsong, inscribe the pulsing air… Reminder that I will feel — again, soon — the quick green tremble of everything. And this immersion — so imminent — this reconnection, and close observation will feed, refuel: body, mind, spirit. Creative well. Whole.

A lot to lay on a season, but Spring can take it.

 

— C.Birde, 3/19