Feel My Own Heartbeat Again

My blood runs through the vines 

draped over the walls of mother’s house;

it runs deeper in the stems and the purple flowers

that rose with each sunlight, each morning,

greeting me with a certain subtlety and grace

that took my heart to places I could never

conjure up on my own.

My heart is in the red rose bushes

spread about the yard in no perfect order;

I miss their intoxicating smell.

My memory of youth is held within their scent,

as are the stings of thorns that bit my little hands

always careful not to leave a permanent mark.

I want to lay in the thousand leaves of grass,
spread my bare hands into the dirt and

feel their hearts beat against my fingertips--

feel my own heartbeat again.

I want to listen to the long necked calla lilies

whisper love and sway with song,

as the sun dances upon my eyelids.

© 2011 Helena Malheur