The messages kept landing paper birds like folded airplanes from the sky. Confetti of voices wanting to be heard swirling of anger, colors of hurt, colliding confusion spiraling to crash on the ground. We hold our hands out to catch them scattering in the street to pick up the fallen. Each message, a precious life with wings a paper bird in need of repair. We sit in a circle and begin to unfold cupping our hands, just one at a time listening to its life of song. It is like we have always known what was needed. We knew we would stay as long as it took to give the listening for each bird to be heard. It was clear. It was not a burden. As we gently passed them from one hand to another, one by one around the circle, the sky opened to us all. © Ali Grimshaw 2020 dVerse ~ Poets Pub, Open Link Night with Linda Share your voice and read the poems of others.
This poem is a reflection on the writing circles I have hosted. I will continue to offer a safe space of refuge for others to be seen and heard just as they are. Love is always the way forward.