Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Jun 21, 2018
My friend, Shelby, sent this poem.
End of April
Under a cherry
I found a robin's egg
broken, but not shattered.
I had been thinking of you,
and was kneeling in the grass
among fallen blossoms
when I saw it: a blue scrap
a delicate toy, as light
as confetti
it didn't seem real,
but nature will do such things
from time to time.
I looked inside:
it was glistening hollow,
a perfect shell
except for the missing crown,
which made it possible
to look inside.
What had been there
is gone now
and lives in my heart
where, periodically,
it opens up its wings,
tearing me apart.
Phillis Levin
Thanks Shelby, it describes me, "broken but not shattered" and my experience, "What had been there is gone now and lives in my heart where, periodically, it opens its wings, tearing me apart."
I'm broken by the absence and my heart is torn by that absence.
Blessings,
Al
End of April
Under a cherry
I found a robin's egg
broken, but not shattered.
I had been thinking of you,
and was kneeling in the grass
among fallen blossoms
when I saw it: a blue scrap
a delicate toy, as light
as confetti
it didn't seem real,
but nature will do such things
from time to time.
I looked inside:
it was glistening hollow,
a perfect shell
except for the missing crown,
which made it possible
to look inside.
What had been there
is gone now
and lives in my heart
where, periodically,
it opens up its wings,
tearing me apart.
Phillis Levin
Thanks Shelby, it describes me, "broken but not shattered" and my experience, "What had been there is gone now and lives in my heart where, periodically, it opens its wings, tearing me apart."
I'm broken by the absence and my heart is torn by that absence.
Blessings,
Al
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