Tuesday, March 22, 2011

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