(for my mother’s sister)
What an old thorn you’ve been for me
and I for you; once a young green tare
pulled into our bodies
by the weight of my mother’s death.
Tearing the flesh of family belief,
the images of common origin
in the womb of your mother
where all this began
and those tiny seeds,
the only gifts grandfather gave
in his short and painful life.
His seed became your sister become her son
became a thorn, you and I to each other,
suffering, cursing, laughing, cajoling
until the edges rounded, the barbs dulled
and finally passed through our hearts
to flower again in shining red beauty.
Rich with all the pain and laughter
and lowered with your body
into the earth of a warm hillside
with last tears and final adieu
long foes and dear allies,
your thorn and mine
become the rose.
WHEW! A rose, by any other name, is yet a rose–root and stem and leaf and blooming flower..and a very certain radiance, which the thorns could be understood to protect.
Do thorny issues protect Truth? Or do we just indulge ourselves…in thorny issues? As for me, I shall love the whole, thorn and all.
What a poignantly and instructively told tale of love through the looking glass called family.
Ah, families. Functional, dysfunctional, whatever. All are training grounds for life and for letting go, eventually. And are spectacular proving grounds for forgiveness, especially of the self.
Fabulous poem Don.
Surprise, there seems to be others who know us out there!
Would that we could but see the reasons for or connections through all the ages. We would I think, find we have known each in this eternal life. All is meant to “round the edges” of our sometimes sharp life and bring us to love ourself who is the other. All the world is our family- thanks Don for bringing in the light.
Love this I will include it in the scrapbook I am making with the old black and white photos we found at Mom’s. Thanks Don.
Oh Don, what a reach your words have.
May i use this poem during my family systems workshops?