a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)
Rocks carefully placed
decades ago, now disturbed.
A new plan emerges.
***
In the first days,
when this house was fresh
and new, awaiting
my particular imprint,
I created a garden
of rocks and stones
and periwinkle.
A small circle of stepping stones,
the center a terra cotta birdbath
surrounded by tiny purple flowers
amidst dark green foliage,
a border of rounded river rocks,
one etched with the word “trust.”
A failed water valve, an emergency,
hours and hours of poking,
digging, scanning —
the rocks now piled in awkward lumps,
the birdbath crumbled,
“trust” disappeared in the detritus
of what was.
In the days to come,
I will clear the ground,
discover what remains
and open the portal
to a new kind of wholeness.
A Streak of Teal 