Fires burn in their chosen places.
When she put her hands on me
I could feel the heat from my own furnaces.
She gave me permission,
By touching each place I had held
Too many doubts and fears,
To release the energy within,
To put a name to some slight
Or other self-wounding.
And I stood taller afterward,
Saw beauty in even the wind.
A little moment
Of being reborn,
Of giving myself a break,
And another opportunity
To appreciate the charred places
That would yet again
Give composte to new seedlings.
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