she was at least 100
trained in the judgement
of medicine her MD
hang about her like a
stone
infiltrating itself
into the tightness of
shoulders wrists and knees
there was so much pain
in the stiffness of her glare
behind the broken sentences
but still she came
to the workshop on healing
with a swamp of cynical harumphs
enough to swallow
any who dare sit too close
the lady who came to herald
the grace of the creator
that can be found in the simplicity
of hands and hearts brought together
stared at this wounded child
the apple wisened past sweetness
this is what she was given
to hold: that which did not
want to be held.
what if
she asked
you just - tried it out?
just - experimented?
well.
the prickly pear
harumphed.
I suppose I could
just give it a go
And so, muttering,
she sat in the chair in
the circle of Members
nobody special besides a few
Ordinary Humans
(made extra-ordinary by Love)
And they came to her
hands outstretched
touching her
sholdures
hands
knees
feet
she
who had never really
let the grace of the ordinary
or the simplicity of the hands
the touch
of the lightness of the baptismal waters
wash over her
stones
she was, there, held.
later
those who held
spoke of beauty
of meaning:
to be able to care
to hold
the prickly pear
to discover
the smooth soft skin beneath
afterwards
she was quiet
not so many harumphs
something
indescribable
touched
the healer
for a few moments
healed
who knew that even prickly pears
could taste
such sweetness:
their own
oh!
these imperfect clay forms
in Your image:
You make all of us pears so
precious
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