© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015
Calamitous life events. During mine, I asked someone, “Does the pain ever go away?” “No,” he said. “But eventually you find a way to put it in a little box and store it away where it doesn’t hurt as much.” Another friend likened the hurt, the painful memories, to a stone in your pocket.
Stones in your pockets. You revisit each stone, taking it out, turning it over and over, looking at it from every side, scrutinizing it, analyzing it, holding on to it, holding on to the pain and then putting it back into the dark to weigh you down, you not ready to let go. Maybe you hold onto it because you feel you have nothing else to hold or hold onto.
You take it out again and again. Each time cutting your heart on the shards of broken illusions. But each time the edges smooth a little and then a little more until the stones of sorrow diminish, slip away, stone after stone, your life pieced as a path cobbled from those sorrows, from those stones. The stones that had weighed you down were stepping stones, all along, to lead you to your life.
Stones in My PocketsTime’s fingers reach for,
Turning over and over,
Stones in my pockets. Rounding edges of Heart shards aftermath pain path, Stones in my pockets. Time alone softened stone Let go echoes cobbled stones Fall from my pockets.