What can I do with this shit?
Today, when my jaw was clinched so tight
for the umpteenth time that
it hurt and my ears rang from
the pressure that I carry right there in
that place where I try my best to keep
my face calm and project a facade of
“I can handle all this. I’m fine.”
As if what we are going through is
just like the late winter ice storms
we had as children where we
moaned because we had to sit next to
a fire with our families and pass the time.
For five days. Can you imagine!
This is no minor inconvenience.
My jaw will tell you that, as will
the tears that well up in conversations
when the grief presses me down on the floor
like an annoying sibling that won’t
get off my back.
So will my heart break. And yours.
Today, when my my body needed to do
something to help me ground and steady
my heart in the midst of the stupidity and
selfishness that swirls around us all,
I took three giant bags of composted cow shit,
planted flowers, and tended my pomegranate tree.
Perhaps the rudbeckia will benefit from this shit,
or the lantana. I bet the gardenias will
put it to good use in these days when I feel like
this shit has to go somewhere.
Some good has to come of it,
and I believe deep down that something in
my soul is sprouting in all this, taking root
and growing stronger in the dark places.
So, I will keep watching the flowers and hope.