Now It Springs Forth

From Isaiah 43:19

(I)

In the early days, he told me: live your life.

Laborious days after death, audacity of a child

I reach for his blessing, and scarce can catch my breath.

(II)

All these tears, a harbinger.

Time to leave.

I wonder: what will become of flower beds?

Will perennials cease to sing and lilacs grow feral?

Drawers emptied out from striving, and what have I to show?

Will the house of bygone memories collapse?

In spades, I value this land!

Land of childhood and neon canola.

Land of open sky shaped

like a loving father’s arms.

Land that taught esteem for grandeur—

the vast expanse of a dream.

She said: but we’re family!

Then why do I wade through this wetland of hurt?

When fence lines crumble, we

pound new posts into fresh ground.

(III)

On the billboard:

Broken Mothers Raise Broken Daughters.

Wretched weight of words will an eager spirit—do the work.

In a counselor’s office, a cracked cistern vows to heal.

Forecast calls for rain.

Text & Photography: Kristine Amundrud