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A Brand New Day
Healing takes time. But time on its own doesn’t heal. Below is a poetic testimony to the moments of shattering and re-opening to newness after seasons of pain.
The sky was a piercing blue backdrop
for the terra cotta pot that flew in the air up against it
with unrecognizable Sharpie inscriptions all over it.
The therapist and I played a game of catch;
we stood farther and farther apart, and I released all the feelings
about all the things written inside and outside the pot.
“I don’t want to be angry anymore.”
I don’t want to carry them in my heart or let them haunt me in my bedroom.
I no longer want to apologize for the things I allowed him to do to me.
“Then throw it up,” she said.
I flung it there against the blue November sky
and heard the cracking, blasting sounds of freedom.
The shards scattered, but there were still big chunks of discernable words I was ready to forget.
Memories lingered on the pavement that were no longer welcome in my…
