written by: Michelle Dark
Black earth ingrained in fine lines of pale skin in now aging hands,
Praying for growth as an act faith.
I bend and straighten, never break
I am here to create.
Step amongst tall tree ferns and glide beneath veneer,
We make and recall memories
I know now why I’m here.
Orange sun streams through paper thin possibilities for new days
Questions arise as dew glistens
I mold into productive being
I am here to listen.
With palm I sweep the residue one thousand lives’ remains,
Underneath my words are hiding
We shall start again
Purple berries stain swollen lips desperate to voice unspeakable stories
Collected through broken window
Courage stilled I’m ready
Become my own damn hero.