Anger. There she is again,
the daily tide slowly rising
unexpected and predictable.
My teacher said,
”Notice where you feel it
in your body.” So I pay attention
until I find it, and then I assign it
a color and a shape.
If your anger was a color,
was a shape, what would it be?
Once, four years ago, it was a
bright orange, basket-ball sized orb
in my abdomen. Another time,
an ink blot above my eyes. Today,
a dubious raven pecking around my heart.
What has the pecking raven come to teach me?
I look closer. Something inside me wants to give
the jet-black bird a name, and the name it wants
is “Rose.” A raven named Rose. Now isn’t that the
funniest thing you’ve ever heard?
I ask Rose what to do with her today.
She stops pecking and looks
me square in the eye. I gently cup my hands
around her soft, fragile body and let her go.
Up, up, up and away. She wasn’t created to peck
holes in human hearts, but to soar.
And something in me lifts up as well.
The holes left behind letting more light shine through.