Letting go of the shame of not knowing blue,
letting go of the pain they tangled in hue.
Letting go of the thought that blue wasn’t true.
Letting go of the confusion of water and wine,
we see the vast ocean, before there was time.
Letting go of fixed mind,
unstable ghosts of past:
The father she chased in each lover,
and the unpredictable shadows of shame.
Seeing her reflection in the mirror mother,
she pleaded him to stay,
stitching faith from frayed threads.
Letting go of fixed mind,
its weight in the woven loom:
The mother he rescues in each lover,
his stubborn grasp at her inner gold.
Seeing his reflection in the mirror father,
he kneeled at her altar,
sacrificing the wrong spirit.
Honor the ones that fell from high,
their ceaseless gazes are returned in our quiet dawns.
At the kindergarten gate,
fears of maternal absence linger.
What sage would refuse to listen
to this crying child?
Remembering the main street store,
colorful plastic toys at my feet.
“Stay here,” she said, her voice a thread of trust.
She passed through a curtained door,
into the veiled world,
coloring me with uncertainty.
Honor the ones that fell from high,
unveil their eyes in our quiet dawns.
Wild tragedy unfolds, in earnest truth.
“All women become like their mothers.”
No man escapes the ghost of his father.
Frayed fabrics – not from weaving,
but hasty hands and slow deceiving.
Listen deeply dearest one,
work with gentle hands and paced understanding.
Recognize the true blue, not water and wine,
the limitless ocean, the refuge within you.
Image credit: Deep blue sea, Lars Lentz
Primitive Joe 
