I still think about the way he listens to my secrets,
cradling the words and folding them into himself,
even as I continue to unearth the worst of me,
digging so deep,
I chip away the cracked to find the patinae,
so aged,
I taste rust in the back of throat
many days,
my bones feel as if they’re already drawing me
into the earth,
but he reminds me it’s just a returning
to the safety of our roots
I love the use of the “roots” metaphor in this poem. “He” must be a real treasure!
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Thank you, Liz! 💜
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This is fabulous, Ang ❤️
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Thanks, Rita! 💜
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Whoever he is, he’s very wise:-)
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Thanks, Suzanne!
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This poem, so in contrast to my own today, speaks of a deep, nurturing love. Wonderful.
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Thank you!
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So welcome.
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