This is one of my favorite photos of my grandmother and me. She passed away last year on Good Friday, a synchronicity I think she would’ve loved. She was- complicated. Strong-willed, hot-tempered,…
Browsing Tag
poetry
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Bone of your bone,
flesh of your
flesh.I rise
from the ashes
of your strife. -
Do not fear the shadow side of the moon,
the double edged sword
you carry in your hand.
Feel, and never look back.
Err, and do not retrace those steps.
Stumble, and bear your scars with pride. -
“I want to know my death
makes me no less part of the tree.
That dying can be as triumphant as tragic.
I want to know that the hope of rebirth
is just a season away.” -
Bug bitten, blistered, sun burned, scratched. Ash on my clothes, dirt under my fingernails. Dressed in spider webs and fragments of grass and petals, little souvenirs to carry with me for awhile.
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My journey with nursing has been a long one. I was fourteen the first time I ever worked in a hospital and I can still remember the way it smelled. Like industrial cleaners and cafeteria food and stale bodies.