Retreat, Day 2

The cold metal gate of the dog run comes off in my hands, I hustle Mo into her pen, squeezing through the narrow opening to drop off a food dish, a ham bone, my guilt at leaving her all day and most of the night. I jerry-rig the gate and drive off into the cold bright morning, ready for meditation. The proverbial fingers of dawn caress the Eastern sky. Up and at 'em, cowgirl, get out your meditation rug.

Sins of Omission -
a prose poem under construction

This is what broke my heart: these sins of omission, these things I could have done to keep you, to heal you, to cherish you. These pearls locked in unforgiving shells, safe, inviolate upon the shelf. Homages to stubbornness, to brittle righteousness. Prideful withholding of gifts ungiven, unforgiven. Gems locked forever in hard rock, geodes uncracked. Delicate, complicated conch shells, whispered stories unheard. Loving glances averted, words locked forever into the harsh coffins of small square diaries. We lost the keys and burned the pages. Raw empty spines remain. This is what breaks my heart, what we break ourselves upon, yet do not risk breaking open. We do not risk the vulnerability of light, the terrifying light of love, of grace. We are safe, yet have risked all, have denied truth for the sake of pride, for the pride of safety. We crash upon the sandy shores, untried waves retreating with tide and time. We hide behind the moon, her tattered veil hiding our unshed tears. We break upon one another, in love, in passion, in withholding our deepest selves. What is the heart of the matter? The unbending? Opening the hard-shelled oyster to find only a flawed pearl? We break upon our need, we break upon ourselves. The heart beats on, broken, transmuted into ashes, into regret. A heart un-read, the translation lost.

+++++++++++++++under construction++++++++++++++++++++