What happens when we are no longer our wounds? A lifetime of subconsciously leading from a gaping place, seeking a filler for that hole. I spent years, decades, with an ache so cavernous I felt fated to a life of underlying despair. I wrote this piece the other day, realizing I do not live, breathe, nor breed that wound anymore. I have worked it to the marrow. I can still access it. Using it for the sharing inside of poetry and prose, but it no longer leads me. Instead, I lead it where I want it to go. A sigh of relief beats inside the heart of this poem to have wrestled that baby to the ground, planted it, and grew a lotus flower out of the thick, muddy waters in which I grew from. I am not that Wound Anymore by Leslie Caplan I haven't felt this way for a long time This 'landed' in my pelvic floor This rooted inside a place that can't be shaken I am not wrapped inside or leaking from my birthwound anymore That gnawing underlying current ...
Women's Spiritual Poetry