From the Ground Up

When he filled

in the hole

bare dirt

turned gold.

Nine months

gestating,

the Void had

claimed me

as her own.

Wild apple tree,

so thirst and

mineral driven

mourned.

I couldn’t

envision rebirth.

He came

and worked.

The day he

bade me

enter –

to descend –

to witness –

subterranean

depths

I remembered…

 Crawl space 

 past horrors 

years of decay 

rotting timbers

split in two

 like matchsticks

water dripping from pipes

 splintering wood,

 blackened fungi, 

weeping concrete.

Death thrived here.

Five years of

broken builder promises

 before

 the cabin collapsed

under my feet.

No one would

help until

He stepped in,

a gallon of bleach

in his hand.

A promise of 

Redemption.

Now I gasp.

So this is

 transformation.

I breathe.

Light penetrates. 

From the south

sweetened air,

 pungent scent

 of newly milled wood.

Every visceral

 sense exalting –

I am thrown into

a miracle

of Becoming.

Engineered

by one kind man

who never signed

up for this job

alone. When

 others

fell away

with their own

concerns,

instead of abandoning

me and

 crumbling timbers

he stayed.

Day

after day he

rarely complains

though his

exhaustion is evident.

He is not too proud

to ask for help

even when

no one is listening

but me –

He comes

when he can,

and that is enough.

I worry.

Rest, I tell him

when he leaves

wondering if

my words

have meaning

for one like him.

“I work every day,”

says this humble,

compassionate man –

a fact I know

to be true.

On his way out

I thank him quietly.

(He tells me

I’m too intense.

I mean well

he says, but

come on too strong

I am ashamed to be me).

So like the Bear

I send him

my Heart in Silence.

It is all 

I have to offer

besides

Gratitude

for giving

 collapsing floors

 supporting new feet,

and a wildflower

 elder berry

cedar bark woman

another chance

to stay around.

From the Ground Up.