“There She Is”
Linda Gregg knows that the worst parts of ourselves aren’t tucked away in the boxes we think they are. They stand in our gardens, growing each day, just as we do. It would be nice to know that the darkness is in the dark. But she isn’t. She is here, there she is, there is blood on her face. Petunias and snap peas and butterflies and sunshine and all the good things we thought we would harvest wind around her gnawed off limbs, her broken heart, her endless pain. These things have chosen to include her - the monarch and the flowers and the light. And so should you.
Read the poem here.