Glitter in the Grief

This poem is a collective of my own and other’s tales of creativity I’ve packed into one story. Dedicated to those women who are out there blazing the creative spiritual trail. You were told not to get dirty. Keep your fingernails clean. Nice girls smile polite. And, for goodness’ sake, “Do not cuss!” But, you couldn’t help bending your childlike knees in your striped yellow dress,leaning low toward the earth to make a prayer with the God-given soil that lay beneath your feet. You scooped handfuls of water and dust, feeling wet sludge mush between your fingers; this slippery grit…