Reaching by Teri H Hoover
A clock on the wall measures out time
The color of bones.
A flower in the window leans into itself to remember
The curve of the sunlight on its face.
A tired universe hides beneath an old woman's quilt.
The frayed edges of memory come alive with touch her hand.
Shall I tell you of the teaming stillness, of the bone without marrow
and how hope
clattered away, with secrets unshared ?
Shall I linger
in the depths, where the massive darkness bids the heart to drown?
hush the clock,
remember the warmth of the curve,
believe the frayed edge has a story to tell.
The soft hips rise from the earth
like the crocuses leaving the depths of secret grief.
Perhaps, the path back home is not the way we came in.
Notes: Warning- written while overtired. Hope you all have a had a wonderful weekend. I am intrigued to see where the words took everyone.
This weeks Sunday Whirl words-
hips, marrow, crocuses, stillness, massive, secret, flower, grief, window, perhaps, hand, clatter, colors