Sakura Blossom

Some people say that the beginning
contains the ending,
that the first steps reflect how the direction...
of a wind will continue to blow.

I look a long way back
to think this one
through to it's end.

Meanwhile, we sit on the porch
drinking tea, watching the sakura blossoms
floating between the black rocks
in the small pond.

We have been waiting for the rain.
Listening,
because Aunty Ume says father
is near the threshold.

We listen together,
because this is how we understand.

He does not need us now.
He is leaving.
He already knows where he is going.
He assures us
his maker
and his people
are waiting.

It's just this body, that will shed,
he says,
like a seed pod curling back to reveal the rich
inner kernal. Where new life offers freedom
of renewal
and nourishment.

It is always us, Aunty Ume says.
The ones left here that suffer.

It is our emptiness,
left in lieu
of familiarity of habit, comfort
of companionship
and sameness
that we miss.

I say, well, what about grudges
or anger or feeling unsafe
because he is gone.
She replies:
It's all familarity of habit,
sameness,
that we miss.

~Chandali PoetStory 2016