Pilgrimage — NaPoWriMo Day #28 — a poem about recycling bad vibes into a good life

The pilgrimage happened naturally,
in its own time and protected space
as I went on about my days.
I never had to force it,
never had to tell falsities.
What is meant to become
will always be done—
will live, will breathe, will be.

The twists and turns merely slowed it.
Even sickness couldn't stop it.
Neither my soul-deep itch
nor your two-faced fits
were ever enough
to damage this.

All the rocks you flung
provided a rich resource for me.
A little mortar and elbow grease
turned into a fieldstone foundation
beneath a charming starter home.

Stop looking.
You will never find me
there in your mirror.
I will carry on the good bits
when all that's left of you
is a narcissus flower,
dried and fading,
with no one left
to water it with lies.

Photo by: Fátima Fuentes