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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