The Broth of Grief bubbles on the back burner. Today it exploded.
Splattered all over the walls, floor and ceiling. It flooded the kitchen. It was everywhere.
Sticking in my eyes. Digging into my chest. Wrapping my wrists.
Five tornados running through me. Becoming me.
The broth is sticky-sweet as love, the source of everything.
The beginning, middle and the end of everything.
The air in my lungs, the lashes on my eyelids.
The wings of a butterfly in Japan, the moon that’s nearly full today. Sitting outside my window.
You and me and everything between us, my love.
“No coming. No going.
No after. No before.
I hold you close to me.
I release you to be free.
Because I am in you and
You are in me.”
– Thich Nhat Hanh