She stands, it calls her
From the cold and damp, stale air
These walls - a cage now
Orange flowers a scatter
Past the plethora
To the quiet green, she moves
Shadowed sussurus
Of leaves, root and soil afoot
They whisper. She stops,
And settles into the grass
Her eyes, blinking slow
Cool gusts move
through her fingers
Softly, she exhales
She didn't know she'd withheld
That breath -
Now a tear
A poem about escaping whatâs heavy and letting the earth hold some of it for you.
Sometimes healing starts with a whisper through the treesâand a breath you didnât know youâd been holding.