Did I say I didn’t hurt anymore? I was wrong.
For a little while the wound had healed, the pain replaced with a sort of numbness, like the kind that comes when nerve endings have been severed with a scalpel.
It took me by surprise this new onslaught, sharp and bright;
it caught in my throat and made my eyes hot with tears.
I was shuffling along the sidewalk, my back and shoulders laden with shopping bags, a back pack and a heart heavy with the pain of recurring loss.
Wave upon wave of desertion and reclamation finally unfurled the reknitting my heart had managed to do.
I surrendered to a monolith of a boulder that had beckoned to me as I was making my way home.
I thought I was done with the tears. In this, too, I was mistaken.
So I let them come.
Flowing in rivulets from the outer corners of my eyes, they mingled with the rain drops that sprinkled my face.
For a moment I wondered whether the cars driving by noticed the lump of a woman spread out like an offering.
The rock was solid and smooth and warm despite the overcast sky.
Solidly it bore me with a strength that I seemed incapable of sustaining myself.
My sorrow settled, seeping from my body to deep within the stone.
I stood up after a while to resume my walk.
One foot in front of the other, step by step, I wove my way back home.