by MEG ULFERS
“Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.” Oh where will we return? Through the ashes and the dust. Not a return to what I think is home now. No never that. Not a return to what seems like my body now. When we go out with tears, only then is there return. It does not work out for the best in this life. But this is hardly life. I do not yet know what life is until I die. How can I? I can not know joy without knowing sorrow. How can I know life until I know death? Not lifted up until cast down. The cost of life is dear but I didn’t pay it. If I carry the harvest I did not make it grow. I get it wrong all the time and think I made a garden. I am ashy and covered in dust. I am covered in blood. It is not my own. I can not understand but I know I will sing someday and it will be beautiful.