Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Growing pains

The joints,
The places where I am tied together,
Different pieces of me branching off,
Gnarled and knotted in their transition
as they spread their story of who I am -
These spots hurt.
They ache and moan
        when the storms come.
They are where I was ripped apart
    to make room for a maturing me to grow.
Those spaces
        in the in-between
                    are stretched hollow,
A gap in the defenses.
A pause before the great leap into the unknown.
The wilds in my soul.
The winds blow hard these days
   and my joints are sore.
Creaking and throbbing and twinging
                under the pressure.
But they will hold.
For I have new branches to grow.

1 comment:

  1. I like the spacing you used. It makes the poem look twisty (like joints).
    It made me feel winter and contemplate growth cycles (specifically what happens during dormant periods).
    Thanks for writing it. I enjoyed reading it.

    Wendy R.M.