To be saturated by sorrow
is to be a soaked sponge
heavy with dank dish water,
to be a rain-soaked meadow,
to be a grief-stricken being.
The sponge, abandoned,
grows mold, heavy with toxins.
The meadow with no stream to
cache its drain, no seams to the aquifer,
loses wildflowers and grasses,
roots drowned.
No bees, no birds, no color.
The grief-stricken being who
holds back tears,
floods the mind,
hardens the heart,
strangles the spirit.
Sorrow released allows tomorrow.
Vermont
is to be a soaked sponge
heavy with dank dish water,
to be a rain-soaked meadow,
to be a grief-stricken being.
The sponge, abandoned,
grows mold, heavy with toxins.
The meadow with no stream to
cache its drain, no seams to the aquifer,
loses wildflowers and grasses,
roots drowned.
No bees, no birds, no color.
The grief-stricken being who
holds back tears,
floods the mind,
hardens the heart,
strangles the spirit.
Sorrow released allows tomorrow.
Vermont