I lie in fresh shade from tall, golden stocks of smooth flowing wheat, its sway quickened by the afternoon breeze, and inhale the tilled pasture that beds me and spreads between my fingers and toes. Above me, a lark weaves dollops of clouds into a searing blue sky and I rest until the distance brings the ring of my mothers cry, channeling me from my demise. Oh let me rest, let me wallow in this nest, but her call is heavy and though my eyes are shut I can see she sits in disbelief, cradled over my open urn. With heavy tears that spew from her cheek into my ash, she picks a chard of bone from my remains, and places it on her tongue. She swallows hard and cries, “I need a piece of him inside.” She will not let me rest, will not let me wallow in this nest and so, I move, ever so softly, into the light.
Green Monkey Tales © 2007 Shannon E. Kennedy
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I can feel strong love when I read this. I get brief impressions of unresolve and reaching out over the barrier of death itself. Beautiful. ~S
ReplyDelete(P.s.) I think that the Jesse who follows you is also me... becuase it's my e-mail account... not really sure what happened, but it wont' let me create a little "Sarah" follower.
Hard to believe that 6 sentences
ReplyDeletecan touch the heart so deeply.
It is not a measure of the depth of your loss, but for me, as a mother it is a reminder to love my children carefully & embrace the pieces of who they really are & let them be that.
Thank you for this,
Mairead
This looks as nice here as it did in that other place. There is a very inviting sound to your voice, your writing voice, but I happen to know you can also write pretty snazzy noir.
ReplyDeleteI tagged you from my blog to help continue the story chain that came to me. Won't you have a look and consider it? Outside-In.
Thanks.
Keep up the great work.