She drifts so far away

She drifts so far away
from all the faces and their cues,
feeds on photographs and memories
woven in the retinue
of images she carries
like moonlit dances in the wind,
in her dreams she beckons herons
whose one–leg stance feels so akin
to the sense of almost balance
that she’s tried to cultivate,
from her bodily imprisonment,
her fear that its too late,
all the ways she’s cared for others
husband, children, many more,
the sacrificial worry that she's carried
is suddenly falling to the floor.
Just opening her eyes
making known that she is present
it’s almost more than she can muster
all her life she’s been so pleasant,
she has covered up her woundedness
like that extremity tucked under,
like the heron she’s been patient
hasn't scolded or chased wonder,
she has always done for others
in her life of soldiering on
but now her heart won’t beat in rhythm
its creating a new song,
as she begins to lift her head
shake it like she might not stay
though she’d have to let that leg down
she would have to fly away,
she would have to have a vision
of the world around that point
could she believe it without seeing
allow new waters to anoint,
to heal and offer nurture
to the parts that feel so dead
could she really call a future
from her body not her head?
If her prison is her healer
if she listens, and then flies
across rippled sunset waters
beneath a new and vibrant sky
on her own she might find beauty
and access that distant shore
could she really leave those others
and just open up the door
to her own heartbeat,
her beauty,
to the rising of her breasts,
to the sense that she is worthy
of great laughter and life’s zest?
If she wades a little deeper
and lets down that hidden limb
spreads her wings and calls her evening
cry to voices deep within,
will she find the upsurge in her lungs
and say a sweet good-bye
to the be-the-weak-one bay land
that has held her in its sigh?
She can feel her heart grow stronger
she can feel the wind now lift
her wings upon their journey
with great purpose she’ll not drift
no her own way she will find this time
let go of pleasing others
around the point
or down along the shore
its up to just her druthers.
From her lofty flying place
she looks down at waters deep
tonight she'll choose where she might land
and where tonight she’ll sleep.