GRACE

On the day when the scar tissue burns at every turn
There is grace.

When the longing to be seen, 
to be heard, 
to be celebrated,
to be witnessed,
Rises up like a dervish spinning staccato prayers into the twilight
There is grace.

When the heart screams 'no more!'
And the howling in your belly 
Becomes the howling of the ages,
And you find you have no choice
But to bring up the poison seeds you swallowed so long ago.
There is grace.

I see you little one.
Spit the bitter seeds on to the ground.
Grind them under your heel and let the
Earth reclaim them. She will
Make medicine out of your poison.
Make beauty out of your suffering.

If you do this thing, the suffering will be great.
But then...ah then, you will know...

There is grace.

Elizabeth Copeland
Dec. 11, 2014