Her Becoming
Nestled snuggly upon a hill
a tiny cottage where I used to live and love.
Green everywhere the eye can see
but where the blue sky sits above.
Forced to leave this perfect place
with no understanding of how it came to be.
With hearts filled with sadness, we slowly walk away
towards the gently rolling sea.
I lead the way this final time
upon the path we've worn.
Walking these hills with pleasure and joy
since the day we were born.
Mind numbed and unable to think
beyond the here and now,
I turn, looking behind to create
the saddest of all memories.
There she stands in the chilly wind,
red hair streaming as she struggles to bear her agonies.
Clouds move over the sun
to shade the brilliant blue of her tattered dress
of which she was once so proud.
I catch the words rising in my throat
and stop myself saying her name aloud.
She's standing to face our home and wishing
to return to the safety of strong stone walls
resting beneath it's crown of thatch.
I cannot see her face, yet I know her jaw is set
and sadness shadows eyes so green
no emerald could ever match.
I can't bear to feel the pain
such saddened beauty as this has dared to evoke.
Standing tall and proud in all her ageless grace
wishing for all to be as it was this morning when she awoke.
I turn and resume my steps,
leaving her to come when she is ready to follow.
Shouldering the pack which contains everything I own,
my aged heart empty and hollow.
I reach the sea and with painful knowing
watch it's billowing tide.
Her way and mine here will part for her future is to be made
over those foaming waters on the other side.
I carry with me for all time the image of her back
as she faced the loss of her past.
None else but me was there to see her woman becoming,
hurried along by stones another had cast.
Sheri Whitlock
2004
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