Wrote a poem yesterday to help me loosen up from all the voices in me that want to "be sure I get it right" Allowed the poem to be included in "worked on the book every day for 40 days."
Spring Fever
You have been the teacher
unwilling to release me as you
follow broken stone pathways
into your garden rich with flowers
whose precise and common names
you love to pour off your educated tongue,
like larkspur, honeysuckle, iris.
Today a stormy wind blew open
your peeling picket gate
and I crossed open fields
mossy unkempt knolls,
dug bare toes into rich foliage beneath the forest firs,
knelt down before a small wild orchid
the petite purple slipper hanging head down
a harbinger of transformation
beckoning my Cinderella finger
to lift it tenderly
to the light
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