Ode to the Poem

You are like a tiny seedling from a mighty pine tree, sitting fallow for years, on the forest floor, waiting for that majestic fire to set it you free.

I wonder where you come from, little poem. This piece of magic, this gift from God.  You sat silent, for years at the center of my soul, bursting forth at that great fire, then at the coming death of the one I love and adore.

You were the first one to come to me, I never longed for you, as I longed for the birth of my children. Yet here you are, my first creation. I was sitting on the back porch of our home when you first came to me. The family was sitting in the back, around the fire. Enjoying a laugh or two. I struggled to see how I fit, into their world.  Always at work was I, seeking the funds to keep us afloat.

The Gardner was returning joy to the ones, who's laughter I had not heard, in years. It was good to hear her laugh. Cancer would consume her soon but the children would be left with the memories from the Gardner.  He had come to bring the cure, but joy supplied him also.

You came with your gift. Laying fallow at the center of my soul.  It consoled me, supplied the strength to continue.  Years it would take to find my place, in their lives again.  The anger and guilt and shame came out in the poetry. First to Facebook and then to select close friends.  Then to the one, I loved. This then to return to intimacy long lost. I am thankful for your gift of poetry.