Grief, healing, white female violence
shattered mirrors, tainted vows.
She’s reminded hard questions require slow answers. 

The woman sits with herself.
Grief lingers, she lets it live, lets it transform.

To sit with herself demands time, stillness, silence.
She studies old relationships—
professional, personal—
and releases what no longer serves her.
The heavy bricks that once drowned her every step,
now lay buried.

Instead of stuffing her face with food, she cannot name —she fuels herself with knowledge. Research, rest, reading,
recovering from the seen and unseen.
It becomes easier, lighter,
to release what does not sustain.

She allows grief to become a friendly foe.
She laments—– wails until her body crumples and warps– until she can no longer move, until stillness takes hold.

The storm passes,
Now able to breathe she welcomes the new season. 

The aromatic smell of fall florets frees her mind from any fears.
The air of a new season greets her, filling her lungs with courage.

She inhales the fresh air.

She lets grief live and shift.
She turned generations of white female violence into art.
She freed herself from the weight of desperate, toxic ties.

To recoup, to sit with, to examine eleven years in the work

To perform in various mediums that feed the work. 

She remembers she can fly.

She reclaims her time.
She remembers her power.
She reclaims her voice.

Time. A welcoming friend no longer feared.

She now welcomes him with open arms—-

an open portal that freezes and flows.