Cocooning

Today, I received a poem from one of my passionate, soul-searching, midlife-loving sisters: Sally.

As a writer. . .she often describes the condition of my soul in a way that surprises me.

As a friend. . .she carries me to the Throne of Grace with prayers I am too "blurred in blue" to say.

Because I have a friend that is a writer, and a writer that is a friend, I am doubly blessed.


Summit Self
a poem for Cheri winter ‘o9

She will climb a mountain
if you tell her which one

Or swim upstream
against tides of White Ruffians
if you take her to the River

She is transparent, bursting,
jammed with wisdom born from
years of surrender and wiping
Emergence is near

Like a mountaineer at the zenith
piercing flag into jagged peak
She’s ready to reclaim Herself
The stake: more about Call than Career
Moment than Momentum

For today, she seeks and asks and waits

You are silent.
Come on! Speak!
Aren’t you Word, anyway?!

She listens, blurring blue another day
Can’t you utter a solitary sound?
Or – at least – take her

Take her to the River
dunk her Summit Self down
deep and when she emerges

Smile a resonant Yes!
on her beauty and gifts and age


Wow! I read and re-read with a lump in my throat, because this is exactly how I feel!

Irreplaceable Friend, thank you for this timely poem. And for believing I can climb mountains and swim upstream. I needed a "knowing" prayer today.