your festive season comes tinged
with a lemon ache of —
a unicorn hope that’ll never be,
a shining light who’ll be missed at your table,
a tribe who dons different stripes than yours,
a ten-spiced, home cooked cranberry sauce
when a simple, canned condiment is what you long for —
This is where the spiral will fling you
to the black forest in a blink
It’s your heartbeat. speeding up.
(do you hear her message?)
to your mat,
your trees —
Slow down. take a breath.
Allow silence to wash over you.
Hold your magic stirrings,
rest your hand on the compost
feel your fire stoked within
Take all that grieves your being
and console it.
Then, weave the ragged pieces
next to the pristine threads of glitter.
Let the bruise lean into the beauty.
Here lies invisible growth,
to thanks giving.
Happy Thanksgiving! May you have eyes to see the bounty wherever you find yourself in the coming days. Much love, Ally