in the aftermath
Shocked by reaction, she sat
The moment fraught with tension and what-next
Awaiting the dropping of what might
Be a shoe or worst-case, an axe
Depending on the ground she stands on
Is it quaking or is it the
Air in her face shaking her
Making her create tales
About the situation, story’s telling
Swelling the truth into something
Frightening and unreal
Feel the moment, those shoulders
Ought not to carry boulders
And dropping them should be a blessing
Not only to yourself but to the young
Ones on the shelf waiting a place
To stand, when the rocks land
Around you, on the ground of being
Resounds clear into the ethers
Of past, future and whatever
Your bits and pieces coalescing from
Where they languish in potential
Remain deferential to yourself
But do not fail to embellish with
Soft sweet snuggles directed your way
From your own heart’s remembering
This is not an experiment, you
Are not a failed result nor can you
Be redone. Undo your shoes if they
Separate you from the dewy ground
And hear the sound of your own
Feet falling. Calling for help implies
That help is required, but this is not
true anymore.