In a brief span of time
the seasons change, and
I walk into the middle of
October.
I love the smell of a
fall morning,
the wet, thick air
against my face.
I gaze at my Mulberry tree.
Its red and orange leaves
pretend to have no trouble
letting go.
I wish I could let go.
I brush the fog from my eyes
and turn off
the world.
This is my special space,
where anything can happen
and usually does.
Like having sweet memories of
things that never took place
I escape deep within
and move through the shadows
of my inner world.
My wound is like
a blister on my soul,
and complete
healing
never occurs
.
I mourn the loss of my mother here.
I reach through
time and space
and reshape the truth until it feels
comfortable.
Inside this moment,
I inhale her memory
and brace myself.
I am exquisitely alive here.
So is she
--Jill Davis
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