Grandson’s Gift

He flings himself into the grass,
eyebrows knit. I am so

sad. As his emotion moves me
I feel it, I say.  He glares,

It’s mine. You don’t feel it!
entering outrage and I

wake from my tight self-
containment. So many years

trying to remain inconspicuous
in the flood, building dams

and walls–so high–I’m still
tethered to the scene

of the crime. He clearly
doesn’t need my empathy, just

this empowered opening to dance
with the colors of his aliveness.

Watched now by all the obstinate
children in my lineage punished

for our own spirited being.
And just like that, he’s through

the spectrum and laughing with sheer
joy that heart sight yields in the

unobstructed waves of the truly free.
I’m pulled out of these old bones,

wrinkled skin plumping in this new
ringing space of love’s connection.

Inspired by: Inconspicuous, Wake, Knit and Obstinate.

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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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