I became determined to
love the smell of things
To find their beauty,
their broken vacuum cleaner hearts.
A bad carburetor
smells of summer’s bloom, and heat.
A broken marriage
has the scent of over cooked meat
and wilted flowers that never mended
I loved those flowers anyway
and the roots that brought them
up from ground
and the seed packages
with their artistic renditions
and the water they drank all summer
from the hose.
I learned to recycle
arguments into strawberry plants
Took a string of betrayals
and stitched a quilt
I could sew broken
promises into patches
for my jacket.
Your favorite vase
became a mosaic for the bathroom.
I made a lantern of a few old lies
and was grateful for the light
it lent to the path through
to my studio of ailments
and the off brand hate
that had been tossed my way
That is where I go now to manufacture
various iridescent miracles
I take a handful
each day of the newly sprouted ones
and spread them around
and around the yard
and down, down come the birds
© Elizabeth Deborah Cohen
Excerpt from the book “Imperfect Paths”
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Foreword . . .
How many people can say they have not walked on rough terrain to get to where they are today? Most of us have been bruised and beaten to find out who we really are within; to find joy in this life we have been given. We are flawed beings with imperfect paths, and those turbulent journeys can either make us or break us.
It is easy to blame our past wrongs, the people who have tarnished our trust, and the bad bets the world throws at us. But we still hold the power to make a choice to become better than the humans who hurt us; to be the voice of change by learning from the experiences which have attempted to break us. Along the many roads traveled, the decisions we make will determine who we are to become.
Take a moment to walk in another’s shoes. The poets here have opened their Pandora’s Box, not to release the personal demons that taunt or once to keep them confined, but to share how to sever the weights one is shackled to.
Donna J. Sanders, Author
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