Picking Berries

Memories wash over
like waves in the ocean
making sea glass
from the sharp pain
dulling the edges
beneath
the glass
can still cut

I sit
scrolling through
conversations
finding the places
where I can take the edges
and test them
for the pain
I know is still there

Regrets, stupid I know
can’t go back
can’t
change the past
and if I could
would I?
I look at the beauty
of my sea glass
and know that
were it not for the brokenness
the beauty would not be there

Like picking the berries of my childhood
you save the biggest
best
reddest
perfect
for the other people
the one who pay for
the privilege of the best
next come the ones
sweeter that the last
because in their smallness and imperfections
you find the amazing flavor
these I treasure
and the ones that are past
the furry
the far less perfect
those I poke at
with regret
in all there is specialness
(yes, it’s a word, it’s a word now)
in all there is beauty
yet in my regret
I find the edges
of the pain

 

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