The mystery of my
disappearing
Happens over time
Drawn out days
That seek the night
Turning into years and
decades
A lifetime of worries,
regrets, anxieties, untruths.
I seek to put this all
into a place
Into an illustration
of a life that can disappear
A life that can vanish
Yet still be worth the
moments of magic.
The taproot of my
existence
Not as myself, as she
sits here with swollen eyelids this Mother’s Day
But the taproot that
Burrows itself deeply
within
This earth spreading
outward
In all directions
Joining with all the
other taproots
Deeply embedded within
the core
A meaningful, quiet
core of existence
Where anger no longer
sounds
And fear doesn’t have
a name
In fact, it has no
meaning there
Since there is
no need.
The mystery of my
disappearing
Is no longer a mystery
at all
It has been the
meaning
Of my existence
Since
I must lose myself to become
one.
(Written May 10, 2009
on Mother’s Day)
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