Fragile

MEDIA

Restorative Rituals for
Mental Health

Meaningful Self Care
for Moms

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In a different life,
I took scalpel to skin,
cut through fibrous layers of muscle and fascia
to the very deepest core of our biology,
in bodies dead and alive.

I have held a heart in my own hand,
felt its indescribable pulsating power.
I have witnessed the first cries
of a baby being born,
and in the next room,
heard the last extinguishing breath,
the final rattle sigh,
as I watched the spirit of death
sweep through the spaces between us.

All of it,
every singular moment of doctoring
was majestic and terrifying
somehow all at once,
bringing me face to face
with how little we know,
how hard we try,
how fragile we are,
as soft as the riverbed veins
that glow through our translucent paper skin.

Now I save lives in a different sort of way,
wielding the scalpel of deep compassion,
love, actually,
the CPR of Prozac,
breathing life, hope, desire
into dead spirits,
and watch synapses spark and flicker
through hours of witnessing and journeying
together.

And all of this, somehow
no more or less important
than the medicine of poetry,
these words that are life too,
the stories that hold us
through eternal moon-less nights.
Whatever allows us to reach across
these widening spaces
and speak the truth however we can,
a knowing that all we have
in the end is each other,
you and me,
my hand reaching for yours,
and the love that rescues us.

Mindful Mondays

  • 41

    As I enter into my 41st year, I felt a sudden desire to return here to my blog and write.  It has been awhile.  I have shared poems and other words on social media, and a few here as well.  But, it has been some time since I have sat down to reflect, write out

  • Hold On

    For you whose light has been dimmed in an already dark world— For you whose voice has been muted in a loud screaming world— For you who feels lost in a world full of mirrors— Breathe. When every warm body is out of reach, you have the power to hold your own heart with a

  • Waking Up

    Holding hands in the dark, the wash of moonlight spilling onto the sheets. A kiss on my cheek and a hug that lingers long enough to feel the solid warmth of skin and bone. The breath of a sunset sky, and the heat of thunder and lightning pouring cleansing waters from above. A singular burgundy