Stories I thought I'd written
have instead
written themselves in me,
into the sinew of my arms, my hands.
into the sinew of my arms, my hands.
The way pine branches
writhe unmovingly
like Laocoön riddled by serpents,
within the lissome grace of needle-sprays.
writhe unmovingly
like Laocoön riddled by serpents,
within the lissome grace of needle-sprays.
The way oxbow rivers
reveal their agonizing course
through the bedrock
as if in motion fluid as water,
reveal their agonizing course
through the bedrock
as if in motion fluid as water,
meeting resistence
as they find themselves
again and then again returning
where they started out.
as they find themselves
again and then again returning
where they started out.
March 17, 2018
(Writing towards Healing)
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Sepia Pine
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