Many of you know my mother crossed over to the other side

This one came on Sunday, July 3.

Searching For a Center

After my brother and I watched them lower

our mother’s casket into the cold, February ground,

with a back-hoe no less, the funeral director gave us each

 white roses he had saved from the viewing.

That night, alone, I held one of the roses,

and let the fragrant mass unravel carefully in my hands.

The petals fell in a heap, like silken snowflakes,

 and as I wept, searching for a center, I understood:

The center of things is nearer to the thorns

than to the blossom, nearer to the ending

than to the beginning, and nearer to the unraveling of yourself

than to the trying to hold on for dear life.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog