The Healing

It came in winter,
when ice began melting into liquid
flowing pure & clean
through hollow, sunken veins-
nourishing her body,
feeding roots so long in thirst.
In the darkness of the underworld
of sorrow,
of gloom,
of longing to find the sun,
the root was tapped
and a shoot sent slowly upward,
penetrating crusts of grit & stone.
To the light of day
a single blade appeared,
delicately balanced
between the binding of the earth
and the urging of the mother root.
When the path was clearly open,
she made her way-
ascending with a careful speed,
climbing with the weight of dying anguish,
to probe truthfulness of dawn,
to test the honor of the twilight sky.
She rose.
Silently rose.
The healing began in winter.

Poetry by Nancy Bright © 1986