Moments of Choice
Abuse of the word;
The ones where the house smells of apple
And is vacuumed.
All of the children are home and I am in the
Kitchen, cooking dinner, hearing:
Laughter from outside,
Tutoring math problems upstairs,
The separation between Depression and Light
Is only found in these tiny moments of
The power of Agency, which seem so simple and
Those dark weights blur the lines until I am only capable
Do I care about this; do I want to?
I can't move, I can't decide, I can't wonder, I can't decide. I can't, I can't... I can't...
But here, today, in this kitchen, with the scent of apples, the sight of roses, the laughter of children, the dishes washed, the meal cooking,
I want it. I chose it.
I choose it.
And the darkness lingers, but it has no power, because the
Power of My Agency
Has a fire-light, and it is burning brightly!
Taller and stronger than those weights,
Those arms of oppression and slavery.
Each time I add fuel (medical, inspirational, Grace,
And oh! How Great is His Grace!), I feel the
One blade of grass here... another blade there...
Blades of moments gathered as harvest from the
Spirit of my soul -- dried out from pain, dried out from
The drying hurts,
But the drying fuels.
This darkness, this pain, this exhausting weight is
Because every time it dries me out, every time it pulls away my
Choices, it doesn't realize --
Just as serpents in Gardens where arrogance cannot understand (and did
They not realize?) --
Each dried blade brings me to
And fuels the very Fire that will set me
~Cheryl S. Savage
(October 15, 2015)