A Fallen Tea Cup
J Ann Crowder
Mild, soft, & a subtle wisp upon invisible fallen limbs. She was a perfectly pressed apron until her voice grew, igniting into a tall redwood tree, branches alluring, a strength yearning to be seen. Her broken will a fallen tea cup glued back together again, each crack visible & polished by her wishes of stardust fallen straight from a heaven of pure milkyway. Her voice plunging her deep into warming tides of self-declaration, providing reason & resolve on the other side of self-doubt’s wreckage. Finally a destination she could rest her feet on, in joyous self-rectification, upon sensing her own being’s fortitude. She walks storms now, searching for the eye, resting within its gentle cusp, strolling into its calming center. Poised, focused & steady beneath a pain’s raging currents. Gentle, mild, soft, & a subtle strength but at peace this time.
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