Uneven Ground
/The work of unburdening, of letting go, changes us in small ways.
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The path from the walkout
basement to the burn barrel
I have not navigated since early
spring slopes and dips
rocking my slightly off kilter hips
and wobbly knees and fickle ankles
like some cartoon conveyer belt.
A stray two-by-two wood block
punches my unsupported arch
and nearly bucks me and my armload
of minutia to damp earth. Composed
entirely of water, I always feel
I am swimming from point to point
one breaststroke from drowning.
This cool autumn day
relieved of the duty of watching
for small frogs and tiny translucent
toads and wily copperheads
I focus on mastering the terrain
to the can where I burn shells of things
I have not addressed and tend fresh
wounds of those I have confronted.
Do or don’t do; there is always a cost.
Tossing the last box onto the fire
tandem flames gather to consume
this new fuel. Uniting as one giant blaze
flame stretches forth and licks my hand
reminding me of the price
for this unburdened walk back
uphill through the slick grass.
By Shelly Norris
From: United States
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