Coffeehouse Days

There was a frozen Siberian wasteland

living in my chest, back then,

born of trauma upon trauma,

that had closed me up, kept me

in retreat inside the safety

of my cottage, living only for

and with my children.

But something drew me

through that door, 
something that wanted me to live:

stepping into the coffeehouse

where the gentle, loving people were,
my journey took
a magical turning
that was meant to be,
so I could learn
how to be more fully me.

There they all were, the dreamers

and the seekers, who lived gently

on the earth. They beamed their kind smiles

and love on me until the ice around my heart

began to melt, and my closed-tight petals

slowly began unfurling, one by one.

A budding hope quivered in the summer breeze.

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On: Inspiration from the work of Tove Ditlevsen. The italicized line is from the poet's poem "Memory".