she is the poem

I watched her there as she slept- her face on my chest.  Her mouth has the shape of gentleness… the way a tree fits into a landscape.  Sometimes, the shapes and lines of her mouth are too definite on her face- revealing stories of pain and dreams of tenderness.  And the suffering on her face is made old- as if it had been with her since dust.  The lines of suffering reveal grace and strength that shout through the wounds to land upon open hearts and hopeful ears of one who sees not scars, but beauty.  Not injury, but triumph.  Her tender features integrated in heart’s perfect wonder just as every living thing is integrated- whole, pure, wise… touched. Gentle and tender- her own language of life and truth.

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~ by questnevythng *kristin isgett* on October 6, 2010.