Healing Now

I’ve opened the code to yesterday
sitting across from this patient

mommy and her three sons–
twenty years ago, that was me.

The missing gap illuminated by
her eldest, smart and witty,

crossed legs, biting his nails
across the aisle, belted in

by strangers. Nervously solving
a four-square Rubik’s cube two-

by-two-by-two during the flight
but now–Mom’s back is turned into

the youngest cuddling close,
soothing frantic cries with

a story about a magical fairy,
the middle one absorbed

in a mobile by that window far
away–he’s clearly worried.

Hey Mom, he calls, but she’s
facing away, deaf to his

perseverance, Mom, hey,
filtered out; his role is clear

the good big brother, the man
of the house, high expectations

everyone can depend upon. All
the things we can do and what

we don’t even consider, and the barrage
of blame heaped upon my own parents

reflected back at me.  I ask for
compassion before I can give it,

as if the faucet must flow
back to the mains. I sit weeping

past the obstruction, seeking balm
for my rough edges until

something finally snaps
me into thankfulness.  The sentient

universe assigns this precise
hurtling toward healing

in this protected space
where I wake just for

a blazing blink of how I am.

Inspired by: Gap, Balm, Perseverance, and Fairy.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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