A Chasm

Tracey Schmidt

 

Sometimes our bodies say,
“I am a hollow reed – music is playing through me.”
Sometimes our bodies say,
“I am a gnarled rag – in need of an amorous cleansing.”
Sometimes: strong, connected, grounded, river rock.

But when the body says
I have become separated from the temple
And we are left with the great divide
It is then,
That our parched and torn eyes
Seek out the hidden Ocean
Which says,

“Let the water fill the chasm –
And become a pool once more.
Let the rag unfurl its blackened and desperate tangle
And receive a thousand stars.
Let the music have its way again
And soak up the fragrance of love.”

Ear to sky
Knees to ground
Head to stone
Hand to heart

We bow to that Eternal One
Who stands like a guardian of what
We abandon daily.
And when the body says,
I know nothing but longing at the gate –

The stone becomes ground
The cloth a banner
The chasm a bridge strewn
With those fragrant flowers
Over which
We return to ourselves.

Music a choir
Freedom an epitaph
The pool an ocean
Abandoning what we love no more.

 


Tracey Schmidt is a poet and photographer living in Asheville. More of her work can be seen at www.traceyschmidt.com


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