"Where did you go ? " he asked
"In your album", she replied. " you're the collector , aren't you?
" you collect everything:
Sunsets, clouds, melting snow
Falling stars, shadows,
fireflies in jars
butterflies in nets
feelings,
hurts, regrets
loves
lovers ........
You throw a hook and cut a slice out of them, for keepsake
and render them useless,
like clipped nails....

and then you preserve them
mummified and exalted like they were never when alive
each sentiment, pickled in the brine of your words
each encounter , framed and hung in the museum of "could haves"

But I,
I am the soil.
I can never collect!
I only renew.
I drizzle rain of tears and draw minerals out of my darkest depths
I soak in everything that the cosmos strews at me
I shed the leaves of expectations at each fall
and let my pain rot to fertilize my womb
I nurture and protect hope,
so that it grows, blossoms, gives fruit.

I many not have anything to show
for what I've been through,
like you....
but the birds come back to sing
in me. "

Arshia
21.4.16