where did all these weeds come from?
bursting at the seams
& taking beauty by force
could it be that the garden unkempt
is the beginning, not the end?
your canvas isn't blank
& first you must see hope
taste it
take it between your fingertips until
it is warm & bends to your touch
wear it like a pendant close to your heart
so that your hope
just like your heart
remains beating

I'm learning to place my hope right in the midst of change. I'm learning that even when there's no solid place for hope to rest, it can settle right in the palm of my hand. I will care for it, nourish it until it's ready to fly again.

poetry series
5.5”x8.5”
watercolor, latex and embroidery thread over ink on watercolor paper