Beneath vulnerability,
a piccolo, a sprite –
a tiny being with might,
a heart that shines,
radiance unsurpassed
One must dig past
brambles and spikes,
peel back wall of dislikes –
essence dwells in a den,
like buried treasure.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
“We all come from the sea,
but we are not all of the sea.
Those of us who are, we
children of the tides, must
return to it again and again,
until the day we don’t come
back leaving only that which
was touched along the way.”
Impulse use to drive my plunges
unrestrained confidence propelling
fortuitous dives – unknown waters
an adventure to be conquered.
Even when anxiety came along
stalked the shoreline in horror,
assured of catastrophe (or worse),
I”d hold my breath and submerge.
Doubt would follow determination,
buoyed by adversity, swimming
forcefully, commanding adaptation –
I’d find my mermaid’s breath.
Motherhood brought restraint
called forth sensibility and caution,
replaced whimsy with practicality
shed the iridescent tail.
I only dig in dirt now –
ground my offspring to earthly
forays, forbid capriciousness,
convince myself I’m solid.
Absentminded burrowing –
(corners of compulsion)
reveal abandoned passages –
old waterways exhumed.
Proclaimed pragmatism falters;
spontaneity descends, transforms
I am nymph again – free floating
Neptune’s daughter resuscitated.
One Woman's Quest 