throw yourself

backward head

first the

terror

of the becoming you are

water

and you

rush with the pull

of the

down and you seep you seek

out the ancient beds you

need no map you are

a map you

know the ground

you

pluck little leaves

and spin

turn catch and twirl a

grass blade whisking to find a

new home in

the dank

edges

the quiet overhangs,

celeriac

scented,

cool

And now back in

the current spurning and speeding

and now face down to the crumbs

of earth you

tumble the pebbles you

polish the rocks you

are intimate

with dirt

4 comments

  1. Heather, when I read “Yellow” I was at the poker table and teared up badly. When one of my dealers asked if anything was wrong I told him no, everything was good. I do that when I think of/hear about John. I don’t know how he was as a father but he was a great brother. We were more like twins than not…close, even tho long periods of time passed between encounters. If I could get thru a period of time talking about him without serious weeping and gnashing of teeth, I’d tell u stories, some humorous some less so. I had to leave the table and go outside where the weather is rainy and cold. PERFECT

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for this feedback, angusmcpherson. It’s good to know that it hit home with you, even if it was in a painful way. It means the world to know how you responded. I look forward to sharing some of those stories in person when we come out to visit you the last week of July.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s