She Is

(Written in response to “My Apologies to Tom Robbins and Louise Erdrich,” found here.)

She is not a flower.
At times, she may bear
some resemblance —
          delicate and feminine,
          beautiful but temporary —
but at her core, she knows
that Sonnet 18 was not written
with her in mind.
She might be ivy —
          adorning, clinging to
          timeless and powerful structures
          while at the same time
          threatening to destroy them
          with her persistent growth.
Or maybe
she’s no rooted thing at all.
Maybe she’s a force —
          a heat wave,
          a polar vortex,
          lightning.
At first,
          the heat or cold or power
          shocks and frightens
          and might feel like pain
                                        (it isn’t).
But after the initial shock,
          the heat or cold or power
          dissipates
          and might feel like peace
                                        (it is).
And her existence
makes you wonder
how you ever lived
without feeling
that power
before.

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4 Comments

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4 responses to “She Is

  1. FYI, I read this piece periodically, when I need to remember what’s at the center.

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