Last Night I Read Two Poems from The Blooming of the Lotus at the Wagon Wheel Word, Gill, MA

Last night at the Wagon Wheel Word in Gill, MA, I read two poems from my book "The Blooming of the Lotus: a spiritual journey from trauma into light."

Both poems are from Part III of my book, about the continuation of my healing process as I slowly move out into the light.

The first poem is from the chapter Triggered and is called "Fairy Dust:"

Fairy Dust      

I wish I could run,
that my ankles could take it
but they can’t.
So I walk 
as fast as I am able,
trying to escape 
the feelings inside me,
trying in a race to beat 
what trails me.

I feel as if I am carved out  — 
hollow  — 
so deep down,
they need to 
dredge the river
for my body,
tossed and turned and lost
amidst the clay-filled waters,
opaque 
with the run-off 
of spring.
They find me instead,
my limbs caught
in the tangled mass of trees
sent downriver with the flood
of the hurricane last fall.

Eyes wide open,
glassy, unseeing,
I am deadened and pierced
from accusations echoing
the voices of my parents
saying I am bad 
over and over  — 
the boy’s words
bringing it all back to me.

Yet,
as I walk along the river 
scribbling madly 
to try to exorcise 
these demons within me  — 
so fierce in self-flagellation  — 
here and there,
the whisper of glimmer
in the froth of tumbling waters
is able to get through.
On a section calm
from level land beneath,
I notice flicks of fairy dust 
picking up the light,
and my body  — 
dead and trapped 
in the overwhelm of hurt  — 
feels the tiniest lick 
of desire
to awaken from the dark
just maybe. 

I will my body 
to melt away
until I am spirit alone
for a moment.
I want to leave behind
my wounded flesh
and the ancient shame 
born with it.
I want to let
the shimmer on the water
touch my authentic self,
the one not held 
or maimed
by words.

If I let down my guard,
I can see reflected there
my own goodness
like fairies dancing,
and I know I must listen,
take it to heart,
and no longer let myself 
dwell 
on the bottom of the river
from what he said.

The sparkling waters say 
I am good,
I am pure,
I am the water and the light,
I have done nothing wrong
but loved 
and given 
all I could.
So I ask the river now
and all of life
to lend me the strength
so I may bury what hurts
and return  — 
born anew  — 
with trust in myself again
in only
that I am good,
not just in spirit
but in my daily life
as a mother
and one 
who is only human.


And the second poem from the chapter "The Blooming:"

Being Woman         

I came here bleeding
as in the poem I wrote
in the wee hours 
of the morning,
trying to shed 
the wounds of my past.
Trying trying
to let the last blood go,
be gone forever.

And then here
in this circle of women,
listening,
sharing and  — 
do I dare imagine?  — 
loving,
I find the possibility
of entering life
as others live it,
no longer alone
but with threads of hope
weaving in
among the sadness.

I feel growing
from the swill
of rotted blood
buds of roses,
hearts of others joining,
and an awakening
into what is 
life.

© 2015, Robin Lynn Brooks