If…

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 —

(hold fast)

This is where the spiral will fling you

to the black forest in a blink

(notice that?)

It’s your heartbeat. speeding up.

(do you hear her message?)

She hums,

“GO! —

to your mat,

your canvas,

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.

(hug yourself)

Then, weave the ragged pieces

next to the pristine threads of glitter.

Let the bruise lean into the beauty.

Here lies invisible growth,

the way

to thanks giving.

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Happy Thanksgiving! May you have eyes to see the bounty wherever you find yourself in the coming days. Much love, Ally