on being a vessel

written 1-29 to 1-30-12

falls through me,
as sand through the sieve,

and i find
some of it is
of a larger grain
than i expected.

it gets caught there,
above my diaphragm.

or maybe i cradle it there,
righteous in my suffering.

either way, some of it sticks,
clumping and riddled with pebbles,

in the sieve
of my heart,
until i let loose
the flow of fire water,
relax the weave
of my soul,
and let it go.


Joan said…
What powerful imagery! Working through grief is so individual. Your ability to put these feelings into words is cathartic. I could feel you holding on to those grains and the release.