Surfacing. We allow ourselves this one
salving act when every balm fails.
Bobbing up for air where it is rare,
we pray that this will hold long enough.
Enough for the moments at dusk when
we must dive again, submerge again,
into depths we know will one day hold us
down, and remain there to mend hurts
that in those magical spaces become
like pearls: prickly cutting dirt engulfed
into bivalved flesh that may in turn
become a magical gem from the agony.
Surfacing, we find ourselves some river
stream to rest with the rolling river stones.
Surfacing, we know we must go back
to the darkened depths, and like oysters
bear the pain cutting through our flesh
that we may surface soon with a new pearl.
—Albert B. Casuga
Prompt: The river stones lie quietly under water:/not quite weightless but small/ enough to turn and bevel at the edges.---From “Chaplet” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 06-16-11 http://www.vianegativa.us/2011/06/