Wednesday, November 24, 2015.
I cannot kill these pansies
Little bit of life
That they are
As winter’s cold and darkness
Settles outside my door
I hauled them inside
In their five gallon plastic buckets
After I left them out there
Long enough to freeze
Their blossoms have given up
Yet not their buds
And not the emerald green of their leaves
And certainly not their tenacious roots
I MUST love them
I MUST care for them
It is a part of who I am
April through November they have blessed me with their beauty
They did not ask for life
They do not crave death
Theirs is a certain kind of bravery
Courage to the end
And these earthworms
Are they as silent as they seem?
What, my dear, can I give to them
Remnants from a summer garden confined
Gathered in a gelatinous mass
Having seeped themselves down through and out of the bottom holes of these buckets onto the plastic beneath them
Only to have found no real possibility of escape?
Do they live?
Are they dead?
I bury them again in now warm so-black bucket dirt
I can wait
We will see
I must apologize
I am so sorry for my own confusions
I, too, share this life and death cusp
With all of you
This seek for safety
This holding on to life
This approach to death
O worms! I feed you water soaked cardboard and bits of paper for a winter in these buckets
In this apartment
Stashed so cleverly in a spare corner
On my kitchen floor
Unlike my species
If there is even one of you left alive
You will reproduce.
Would be glad
Note: I cannot create my chosen spacing here without using “+” as markers
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Tags: adult attachment disorders, adult reactive attachment disorder, anxiety disorders,borderline mother, borderline personality disorder, brain development, child abuse,depression,derealization, disorganized disoriented insecure attachment disorder,dissociation,dissociative identity disorder, empathy, infant abuse, Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD),protective factors, PTSD, resiliency, resiliency factors, risk factors, shame