The Mourning Plow

The Mourning Plow
Copyright © Colleen Cahoon. All rights reserved.

Winds of turmoil, swirl behind the mourning plow,
Scattering shards, to expose tender and wounded debris.

Embedded roots moan to be left alone,
To return to hide,
In dark crag comfort, of the jagged, but familiar.

Tilling old with new,
The plow is indiscriminately cruel,
Surfacing the moist forgotten and driving low,
The high and dry.

Protests and queries yield no reprieves,
Anguish and anger stain memories,
As salted blur of love that grieves.

Eventually... quietly...
The dust of disturbance settles,
Abstractly to receive,
the nutrients of mourning's due.

Amidst discernment's filtering array,
Of discovery and distraction,
Seeds conceived in chaotic change,
Emerge triumphantly,
As miracles of new flowerings.~

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