Rags to Rainbows
No Mother Superior me.
This habit is beyond well-worn.
It’s a ragged comforter made of memory and emotion
Past its sell-by date
Apt to stick in my craw.
No point in looking for the rainbow after the storm.
If I am to be free I must make my own:
Separate the strands of fabric,
Now tangled and confused from years of fretting
And tying emotions to memories and situations.
Unpicked and unravelled a little at a time,
I need to separate and sort the strands into a spectrum,
Lay them side by side,
Consider them in a pure form,
One by one
They’re not so overwhelming and terrifying after all.
From a distance everything has a different perspective.
At the end of my tether
I’m trying to step back
And from the old strands
Knit a new glorious colourful pathway to comfort, stillness, and peace.
I keep dropping stitches
But I pick them up
Sometimes with the help of the most special family and friends.
In time it will be finished
And when it is we can all meet
At the top of the hill after the storm
And let kites fly free by the rainbow.
Written in December 2015
