Picking through now: my
god I was running so fast then, leaving behind time bombs and land mines as I fled
to make sure I would never look back or slow down or god forbid turn around and try to walk sanely again through this madwoman's minefield, now grown over with goldenrod and meadowsweet.
I ran a slick path toward other choices, to hide in the city, to pretend among fumes and pavements that I was fresh and ready, that there was nothing behind me but the wide ocean...
That there was no home waiting...
Within a day I missed soft green under foot and soft eyes of family, so I soon returned to them,
but stayed apart from this field, walked only the perimeter, monitoring, until I trusted my eyes and my footing.
Picking through now: in my treacherous meadow of old mines,
I am stepping, guessing, testing disturbed spots one by one.
Slow work, careful work, through thick sedge that shadows and tangles my feet, that hides the triggers and trip lines.
I am fearless, though, and slow.
As I find each snare I choose my fate, knowing that blowing everything open is the only way to be whole.
© Laura Seale, 2014
Click link below to watch brief video of land mine explosion:
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| Land mine from World War II from Wikimedia Commons |
1 comment:
I could feel every moment of that poem!
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