Hold your sadness gently
lay it down in the warm hollow of your palm
measure it's soft weight
against your heart
it has something to tell you.
Hold it up at the window
and offer it to the sun.
See how the light deciphers
the true meaning of
the vessel in your hand.
Know that it is only seeking to
return you to yourself.
Dear Pom Pom has left me comments here many times telling me that I am a poet. I was never sure exactly what she meant, because I was quite certain I didn't write poems. But then the other day I went through some of my old posts, and I noticed that if I put my words in a poem format she was right. There was a poem there. I just wanted to thank her for showing me something about myself that I hadn't seen.
While thinking about this idea of poems this morning, one arrived. It's no Mary Oliver or Pablo Neruda, but it's mine, and I'm grateful for it.
