Pressing Dreams

Upon waking she always keeps
her memory-laden eyes shut for
a few minutes
pressing dreams between lids —

like flowers.
What is fallen must never rot
she says but turned into art
and hung up on walls.
Slowly
she points to her forehead
that was once smooth and
her body that is visibly
accumulating layers and layers
of unclaimed love —
even as she softly speaks.

~

Disappointments, loss, longing, are woven into the fabric of life. Little imperfections that make it interesting and meaningful. Like spirit lines in Navajo rugs, irregularities in Phulkari embroideries or the Japanese wabi sabi.

So let us embrace life’s flaws and turn them into art. Weave poetry out of pain. Pick up forgotten dreams and gilt their edges with gold. Because what is fallen must never rot. Never.

2 thoughts on “Pressing Dreams

  1. So sweet, nice thoughts!! Must be passed on to from one generation to another! My mom and her mother have these qualities…. lovely 👌👌👌🌹

    Like

Leave a Reply to renicarego Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.