Rebirth

This
is the hope
that is twice
dead;
laughter
from
barren womb.
this–
dead branch
in
my heart
sprouts anew,
manna for
shriveled soul.
resurrection comes
in
form of
words
and I
am shed of
this onus
though
it leaves a
deep lapidary
well, sharp
on edges begging
fingers to find
it’s empty
shell
and rub.
I am
carved
out;
empty.
Hazo asks,
what is left,
then, but
to live
with wounds?
yes, I say,
what?
yet,
over and over
this belly
fire returns.
hope peals–
shatters heaviness
breaks through the
oppressive air
hope.
I hope
still.

Comments

  1. says

    This touched me very much, Laura.

    (There is a poets’ group on SheWrites and a place within the group to post poetry. I just posted one of my pieces there. I encourage you to do the same.)

  2. says

    I’ve read and read you’re words… the feelings you invoke run deep. Yes, what to do but hope. I hope, quietly but desperately. Thank you for sharing this.

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