Giving in to the Ache

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I suppose I should give myself over to  this gorgeous ache more often. - Holly Grantham

It happened while sitting at

the kitchen table yesterday morning.

A buttery bloom of sunshine spread slowly

across my left shoulder

and I turned my head toward its warmth.

In the middle of the table sat

the pink peonies I had cut

the day before when, barefoot,

I had run out

in the wet of morning

to gather them in my arms

as if I were in a Mary Oliver poem.

It was then that a shaft of light caught

the petals just so,

like a hand of pastel vellum playing cards,

they were spread

layered and lovely.

I sighed.

Then, again, as we watched the leaves of the

sycamores and the cottonwoods flip

in the rushing wind.

It really is true that,

when rain is coming,

their pale undersides show,

like viridescent fortune tellers.

Just as our faces fall

all tender and open

before tears.

I suppose I should give myself over to

this gorgeous ache more often.

Lift my folded wings and show my underbelly

in all its lovingness.

Tumble all awkwardly into that deep joy pool

So that, perhaps,

I might find you there.

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Holly Grantham
Holly is a wife, very relaxed homeschooling mom of three boys, snapper of photos, coming of age writer and a soul drowning in grace. After years in Atlanta where she attended college, married the love of her life and lived in an intentional community, she found her way back to her home state of Missouri. She now lives in an antebellum stone house, raises chickens (sometimes) and pretends that she lives in the country.
Holly Grantham

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