I’ve walked these trails ten thousand times,
Wandered through the walled-off garden
That used to be lush for ceremonials
But now is barren and neglected.
I felt, for a long time, that this place
Was frozen in time, unchanging
In the ugliness of its scarred face
I know these paths better than anyone,
Though that is something I need to be reminded of-
I rue going in with others, afraid of what they might find
Or see that I did not.
But yet, more than anyone else, I have
Ran my fingers over the burnt edges
And sat here where the fires left nothing but cinders
No one knows this abandoned garden better than I do.
I have looked around at all that was left
Over and over and over again
And I have wept.
Many years have passed. To the point, where,
I don’t actually recall what tree was planted
Next to the rosebush, or how many fish
Were once in the koi pond. Did we have
Honeysuckle there, or in that corner there?
And as the years have passed, I have come here
Less. This walled garden ruin used to make
Me angry, incensed at you and the ways you break[1].
It used to make me feel weak and despair.
Now, sitting here – hearing the thunder and
Feeling the dark rain clouds riding in –
I feel only a soft sadness.
I have walked these trails ten thousand times,
So often that I did not notice
The wounded edges smooth and heal.
Regrowth? None yet.
But the past is closing,
A final chapter –
And I am ready now –
Veil and dress of the bereaved crisply pressed –
For the final washing
Before it is laid to rest.
There is a weighty peace
In realizing that the last rite of passage
Before a burial
Is really a final baptism
[1] You yourself break. You break promises. You break things. You brake when things are good.