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for one year. lost.

lost. for one year.

father’s swan song

daughter’s mourning

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Not all roses have thorns,

I remember the way those words were spoken,

spoken like the scent of rosemary freshly cut with such certainty and tenderness.

A certainty and tenderness that felt like those words had rather come from the place of memory, and I was left speechless and again wondered if we’d been here before.

I looked upon home where roses without thorns grew like weeds and I fell to my knees as that certainty and tenderness tore my heart open like only a rose without thorns can. I lay motionless for a long while and as the petals of the dying roses fell, I became shrouded in the memory of before, and what is yet to be.

Supernova

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I came and sat by the river of my mind. Hopelessness had crept in and I had sheltered it too long now and so came to the river to let it go. It sunk deep into the water, making peace with the downstream. At the very moment hopelessness was carried around the bend, two ducks appeared, swimming against the current and I remembered two souls floating and drowning at the same time in the deepest depths of love.

Upon arriving at the river, I thought it could be the supernova I saw through the trees, but now I can see it is just the sun setting. Then there will be time again for the deepest depths to rise and the ducks will stay swimming against the current…there is hope yet…