Whispers
flew past her ears like streamers. Did
someone call her name? Was she touched
by a god? Something was in place for her
though she was apart from it. It was
knowledge of the world, of this and that.
The recipe for her golem heart played in her head ‘You take the wet sand
on the beach and form it into the shape of a heart. You ride it out fifty years
into the days of discovery, finding heat in flowers, noticing the return of the
blue jays, hearing the fuse of the owl calling, the creak in the door sending
it away. Dried and falling down the
heart becomes one with the sand and the returning wave existing in refuge and
succumbing to rhythms. The heart will
ride out to the sea to become a fish or to swim in the Gulf Stream delivered to
another shore.’ There’s a space in her
heart that she fills and gets free refills, again and again. Nobody knows how it has the ability to empty
or knows the chamber it’s emptying into. But it must be going somewhere. The
heart is also tidal. It will return.
Still, knowing this felt like standing on land surrounded by a sea of
thoughts. Each thought can lead you to the flower at the tip of Jerusalem grass
where each blade is a road to its own spring.
She knew this, and she also knew she was not ready for spring.
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