Wondering if there is a talking stick circle being held in heaven today.

A collection of emotions that feel like soft thick fog heavy over the sea

so you can’t see the blue waters, yet
they are one massive blanket,
covering our aching bodies,
sea gulls poke at the waves where we stretch our toes,
whitecaps in the graywacke colored waters,

we open our eyes,
squint through the haze
feel the stick in our hand,
hold the wave worn redwood branch
where grains show lines
of growth,
years layered upon years,
some thick with those everlasting rains
in which moss grew thick
and emotions grew tight, or perhaps
those tighter grains
in which dry spells of glistening cold sunny days meant little rain.

Yet in those layered years of the redwood branch
broken from its circle,
we hold tight to the smooth,
we hold a space
like the long line of the horizon
in which the ocean
looks simply still some winter days.

Underneath the calm there are swirling salty waters,
a convolution of currents,
jellyfish floating,
sharks weaving between bull kelp,
a playground of neon colors worn
like the way a spinster wears lace lingerie
under her wool suit,
under her stern smile,
perhaps there is a hint of joy
at the tip of her lips
a soft pink bursting through clouds
a sunrise along the ledges of heaven
in which, perhaps, i want to believe
an emotionally wounded man-child is holding,
rubbing the edges of the wave worn redwood branch,
learning to speak,
settling into the space of silences

before speaking,
holding space
to hold forgiveness

in a talking stick circle
being held in heaven today.

Want 15 free additional reads weekly, just our best?

Get our weekly newsletter.

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo Credit: Pixoto/Kathy Dee