There is a white tree
in the woods
near my home.
Its skeletal bark
a stark contrast
amongst the
near blackness
surrounding it.
Its light leaves
screaming out
against the silence
of dark pine needles
all around it.
It rises stubbornly
reaching bone-white
fingers toward the
sky…palms upward
full of an offering
of peridot…
kissed each night
by moon and stars.
It is an odd thing
to live in the space
between…
I am a woman
mid-fourties.
I have no children.
I have no mother.
No one knows what
to do with me
on Mother’s Day.
Sometimes it feels
like the space between
is supposed to be shameful
or somehow
less than.
But I don’t feel ashamed
or lessened.
I feel loved by the wind
comforted by the dance
of leaves against
a moonlit sky
and I don’t shy away
from the lonely hours…
Songs of frogs
and night birds
bid me to dance
-barefoot-
among them…
I feel wild
and alive.
Don’t pity me.
I don’t pity myself.
Come…let me teach you
the dance of the dark
and the glory
of the night wind.
captivatingbitter 