The Harrowing

The dust and I are daughters of destiny
I sit low
Dirty feet like souls laid bare, falling fallow on sacred ground
I breathe in the earth deeply
Like coming home
I am diving my descent

The dust and I are daughters of deficiency
I sit silent
Absent of a seed like soil tilled and turned over
Laying dormant
Staunchly empty
Purposefully preparing for the potential of the present
In rejection of a harvest for a season
I am found wanting

The dust and I are daughters of discrepancy
I sit in tension
In my lack may I be found fertile
Like a void of barren pregnancy
Ripe and teeming with the paradox of the possible
I sing with a mournful joy
Like a sorrowful serenity
The smell of Ash lingering upon the tips of my fingers
Bitter to the taste yet, sweet upon my lips

The dust and I are daughters of destiny

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One response to “The Harrowing

  1. Pingback: Absence and Arrival « The Alchemist's Imagination

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